Thirteenth Step
by shipperfey
Summary: House can’t even do one self sacrificing act right. HouseCameron, M.
1. Prologue

**Title:** **Thirteenth Step**

**Author:** Alice J. Foster (a.k.a. shipperfey)

**Summary:** House can't even do one self-sacrificing act right.

**Category:** Romance, Angst

**Spoilers:** _Que Será, Será_ (3x06) – No real spoilers, but anything up to that episode is fair game.

**Pairing(s):** House/Cameron

**Rating:** M

**Warnings:** sex, graphic sex, angst.

**Started:** 11/11/06

**Finished:** 12/10/06

**Archiving:** If you want it, take it. Archived at my website http://obsessionscorner. This story is made of 12 chapters (plus prologue and epilogue). Each chapter corresponds to one song by "A Perfect Circle," from their album Thirteenth Step.

**Thanks to:** lizwaller, who asked me to write a House WIP when she reviewed my other story Kaleidoscope Eyes (and promised me some gratification). Lilferret who provided moral support even though she doesn't even watch House. My S.O. for suggesting some of the ideas for this story (without knowing he was giving me ideas for this story) and for buying the House DVDs and getting me into this show.

Prologue

Dr. Allison Cameron strode towards the clinic as her pager went off…

… _again_…

…for the third time in the past 3 minutes.

She knew, of course, exactly who was paging her. What she did not know was why. She had a few ideas (some involved a locked exam room and stirrups, _again_) but three pages – make that four now- in under five minutes pointed to a real medical emergency.

And if he was making her break a sweat running down to the clinic for no reason, she was definitely going to have to hurt him.

He smiled when he saw her – that was _not_ a good sign. That was a _very bad_ sign, especially considering he was clutching an actual patient file in his hand… which meant whatever this case was about, was making him happy – or temporarily delirious. He did not customarily smile until he was actually done with the case – sometimes he would smirk or grin, but this was definitely different.

"What's the emergency?" She asked as she tried to get the file out of his hands, but he wasn't letting her. She also noticed the convenient lack of the rest of the crew…

"It's a surprise, Dr. Cameron." He looked too damn pleased with himself.

Convinced he wasn't going to let her see the file, she reached for the door - only to have him move in front of her. "House!" She admonished him and realized that they were getting interested glances from the peanut gallery (a.k.a. the nurses' station). "Either show me the file or let me see what is so important you pulled me out of the lab for."

"It _is_ important. It's our next case." He argued, still smiling.

She was considering kicking him in the balls just to make the smile go away, but she wasn't about to make things worse for herself. "We already have a case, or did you forget about the guy in a coma upstairs? Or did you decided to break your rule of only one case-at-a-time?"

"No, I'm not breaking the rule. The guy in a coma has been in a coma for three weeks; he's not getting any better or worse – he'll keep."

"Keep?!?" She asked, mortified. Even if he _was_ right, she shouldn't let him get away with it.

"Yes, keep. Anyway, I want you to close your eyes."

She rolled her eyes and lowered her voice, "If you have a stripper in there with some mysterious disease that's gonna turn out to be syphilis or gonorrhea, I swear I'm gonna kill you."

He pouted. "So what you're saying, Dr. Cameron, is that strippers are excluded from your Hippocratic oath? They have feelings too, you know… anyways, _close your eyes._"

She sighed but indulged him anyway. The sound of the door opening was followed by a slight push of his cane against her butt, and she moved forward a few feet. When the cane dropped, she heard him close the door behind her as well.

"Dr. Cameron – meet our newest patient." He added with a bit of flair, just enough for her to know he'd been practicing this in his head.

She opened her eyes to see a young woman looking down; what she could see of the woman's face, the fair skin was framed by curly auburn hair, but what stood out was the full habit outfit.

The woman finally seemed to react, looking up (but not _at_) any of the doctors. "A.J.?"

Cameron gasped. "Mackie?" Then she also realized something else – not only was her childhood best friend in the same room as her, she was her newest patient – and she was blind.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter I – The Package (1/12)

_Clever got me this far_

_Then tricky got me in_

_Eye on what I'm after_

_I don't need another friend_

_Smile and drop the cliché_

_'Till you think I'm listening_

_I take just what I came for_

_Then I'm out the door again_

"My work here is done," House said, pleased at Cameron's reaction – the first part anyway, before she realized that the patient was blind.

Perhaps he should have told her _that_ part at least. Oh well, too late now.

Cameron took a step forward and hugged her friend; when she pulled away, he thought he saw some unshed tears, but they were gone by the time she actually met his eyes. There was fury in her gaze, but he didn't let that scare him. "A.J.?"

The patient laughed. "Allison Johnson," Sister No-Sight explained.

"I see," after a glance at the patient, he turned to look at Cameron again. "Doctor _Johnson_."

"It's _Cameron_ now. I changed it to Cameron after I got married."

_Oh_. Wow. House was taken aback; he should've known she wouldn't have deserted her short-lived husband (and marriage), even after the guy died. Changing her name back to her maiden name would've probably been considered an atrocious act by the naïve, young Allison, House realized as he let the information sink in.

Surprising he hadn't realized it sooner… Leave it to her to carry her dead husband's name for the rest of her life, being reminded every hour of every day of someone who wasn't there anymore. It was actually amazing she forgot the guilt long enough to sleep with other men, but House wasn't about to complain.

"Okay, now that we have all been formally introduced – Dr. Cameron, the patient," he glanced at the record for the woman's name, "Jane McHewitt—"

Cameron interrupted him, "Mackie. It's Mackie."

House continued, "_Mackie_ came into this clinic this afternoon, presenting with joint pain, night sweats, skin rash, seizures and I think that's about it. Oh, and the blindness, of course."

He noticed that Cameron seemed to be ignoring him, which did not fare well. She was examining the patient herself, speaking in hushed tones so he could barely hear.

He was starting to get very annoyed at the lack of attention, but he wasn't about to throw a tantrum - he would wait until they were alone and he would call her hormonal of something of the type.

"I would like to admit her, if that is alright with you, _Doctor_ House," she said coldly.

He nodded.

Yeah, not a good sign.

The door closed behind him and Cameron sighed with relief. She turned her attention back to her friend (and patient). "I'm sorry, how are you?"

Mackie smiled a fake smile. "Pain, rashes, seizures- I thought we covered it all."

"I mean _you_, Mackie. And why didn't you come to me sooner?"

"The Mother Superior did not wish me to travel this far for _any_ doctor. She wanted me to see our local clinic, _again_ – the same ones who haven't been able to figure out what's wrong with me since I came back to the country. She must be less than pleased."

Cameron's face twisted with indignation, "You sneaked out?!?"

Mackie nodded. "Free will, right? We are all big on forgiveness, so I am sure they'll take me back—but I haven't decided if I will go back once you cure me." Mackie's smirk was mischievous but trusting at the same time and Cameron found herself returning it, even if her friend couldn't see it.

"Well, we better get you upstairs so we can run some tests then." Cameron helped her into one of the gowns and handed her one of the cloth robes.

"So, how long have you two been sinning together?" Mackie asked with the mischievous smile again.

Cameron put on her best coy smile. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh please. I may be a nun, but I am not blind," Mackie snickered. "Ok, I _am_ blind, but I'm not deaf. I think it's true what they say about your other senses compensating for a lost one, but I think _anyone_ could've picked up on the tension between the two of you."

"It's not what you think," Cameron offered then looked at Mackie's face. Sure she was a nun now, but this'd been the same friend who'd shown Cameron how to practice kissing (on their own arms), how to use the rhythm method, how to impress boys with techniques and skills, not to mention how two people over 5'7" could actually horizontally fit into the backseat of a VW Bug. "Ok, it's _exactly_ what you're thinking. But it's complicated, and it's going to get more complicated if I don't get you upstairs for these tests soon… so how about we save story-time for later?"

Mackie laughed but nodded. "Deal. But I wanna know everything… just pretend it's confession all over again," she joked.

Cameron snorted, but nodded.

5 Months Before 

The knocking on his door was unexpected. He waited until the commercials came on, because he still refused to be suckered into the TiVo craze… digitally recording his shows took away the edge. It just made television-watching boring.

_knock, knock, _It was insistent but soft; which meant no Wilson, no Foreman. Maybe Stacy's husband had tragically passed away and she was coming to drown her sorrows in his arms—and he would help her, then he would push her away because that's what everyone said he did, every time with every relationship.

They were so wrong.

Maybe The Powers That Be read his mind and hired a call girl for him, ahead of schedule. He hadn't been feeling like emptying the old reservoir as of late, with the whole Tritter-threat looming over his head, but with the right incentive (double-D incentives at least) he could probably go for it.

_knock, knock, _again, harder but apologetic (so no Cuddy), which left Chase or Cameron. Both options were very annoying, but he probably would rather deal with Cameron at this point than Chase. Less whining and begging, at least.

He finally opened the door and saw her there, and he couldn't quite stop his ogling. She was wearing knee-high boots, and a dark green dress; it was skintight, except for the cleavage area – there it did that wonderful drooping thing that always fascinated him. He would like to donate a year's salary to whatever designer came up with it.

Maybe he was hornier than he'd first thought, because her B-cup _incentives_ were looking quite wonderful.

"House?" she asked, sounding too innocent to be true – except this was Cameron, so it was probably true.

He forced himself to look at her eyes. "Yes?" A handful of papers were thrust at his face.

"I need you to read this article and sign off on it."

"Now?!?" He whined. " 'The O.C.' just started," he lied.

" 'The O.C.' is not on tonight. Start reading and signing."

"Why now? Can't this wait until tomorrow, you know, _at work_?"

"It could. But if I wait until tomorrow, some random and interesting case will come in, and you'll throw this on your desk or under your locker, and you'll forget about it. Then Foreman will write an article about the same thing, you'll sign off on it and there'll be another fight, so if you would like to avoid that, do it now."

"God, are you always this bossy when you're horny?" He got a full-blown blush for his comment, but she recovered fast.

"I'm not—just shut up and do this for me, House."

He pointed to the boots, "Hooker boots, skintight dress that brings out your eyes, just the right amount of make-up and you did your hair. So either you are trying to pay off your med school loans by working the streets, or you're going out to score."

She gasped, outraged but did not slap him as he expected. "How do you know I'm not just going out dancing with my friends?"

He snorted, "You don't have friends. You spend more time at the hospital than any of the guys, you spend less time on your cell phone than anyone your age and you sort my _mail _on your free time – you don't have friends. Except for maybe two or three, except they're probably in California or Africa, maybe they're in the Peace Corps or Doctors Without Borders… you know, the charitable respectable kind of friends, not the kind to take you out on a Friday night when you're feeling frisky."

The way she was shaking her head told him he was too close to the mark for his own good.

"Yes, because _me_ going out and trying to get laid is so much worse than you hiring twenty-one year-old hookers to get off."

"Hey, I'm not a hypocrite. If you want to go out, meet some guy and get off, go for it. And when he writes down your license plate and your name, and your phone number, and he starts stalking you and finds out where you work so he can come in and shoot your boss in the chest, go for it. And by god, if you decided to pick up another girl instead, _definitely_ go for it. And send me a tape, please."

"I'm taking a _cab_." She stated simply and turned to walk away, but her shins ran straight into his cane, almost making her trip. "House!" She admonished him to no avail.

"I think you were right about that coma patient; I think we can solve his problem. We should probably go in now," he said with false excitement.

"House," she said more softly, but still managing to sound plenty annoyed. "Just admit the truth, for once."

He snorted. "You're gonna try to get me to admit my non-existent feelings for you? Again?"

Cameron shook her head. "I'm past that point, House. I don't want a boyfriend, and I certainly don't want to take care of another human being on my free time. I just want you to admit that you don't want me to go out to that club tonight, dressed like _this_," she said, allowing her skirt to hike up slightly and his eyes followed closely, "because you're jealous of anyone else touching me. You don't know what you want from me, or what I want from you, but you want _me_. I just want you to admit that."

House's eyes dropped down, past her boots and straight to the floor. He heard her slow sigh of defeat, one leg moving to push the cane away but he stopped her again.

"I want you," he admitted, barely a whisper.

Her lips tasted like strawberries, but the inside of her mouth tasted like coffee and cigarettes; he figured she'd be the type to steal a smoke here and there when she was nervous. He enjoyed the mixture of the flavors as her body pushed him against his front door; and then he was pulling her further into the apartment, so he could close the door with his cane.

There was something soft about the way she kissed, almost naïve and apologetic, even as her body pushed and pulled at him; small, perky breasts pushing against his chest like he hadn't felt in months, maybe years. He vaguely remembered she was wearing a dress, and he dropped his cane somewhere in his living room so his hand could roam underneath the dark green fabric. Without even moving her barely-there underwear, he could already feel her wetness covering her thighs and his fingers - which meant she either got wet _really_ fast, or their little argument at his door had _really_ turned her on.

His index finger hooked around the satin and lace that hardly covered her sex and he tugged hard on it; he felt as one of the straps tore and the minimal garment pooled at around one boot.

Without words, just grunts and primitive methods of communication, they managed to walk in the direction of his bedroom, except he saw the dinner table first. It wasn't sturdy enough to hold both of them - he didn't intend on fucking her there – but it was tall enough for what he had in mind. He just pushed her on top of the table, moving the dress' skirt out of the way so he could truly see her.

_She'd definitely been prepared for sex tonight_, he realized as he saw the small and neatly trimmed patch of hair covering just the top of her mound… everything else was bare – waxed, most likely. His finger traced the wetness from where it'd reached up to her clit and all the way down between the plump cheeks, where he lost sight of it. He'd always been fond of her ass.

She was squirming already on the table, her breathing shallow and desperate, and he couldn't wait to see what she had in her. His finger kept on tracing the wetness from perineum to clit and back down again, not touching anything long enough to let her come – but he knew she was close already.

It'd been a while since he'd seen a woman really come; a couple of the hookers faked every once in a while, thinking he was too dumb to tell the difference, so he'd let them believe he believed. But to see a sincere orgasm—the thought alone was almost enough to push him over the edge.

He allowed his index finger to finally dip into her, just to the first knuckle, and her entire legs shook. He pushed the finger deeper, maybe another inch and her hips buckled, trying to pull him in. She cried in protest when he withdrew the finger completely, but then he pushed two fingers inside her, in one swift motion and he felt her orgasm from beginning to end, her inner muscles clenching around him.

The whole table shook and groaned in protest, but it still stood – and so did his now raging erection, but he wasn't ready for the bedroom yet (or the hallway for that matter). He pulled his fingers out of her again and brought them to his mouth. His tongue tentatively reached out to taste her juices and he had to fight back a very loud moan.

She tasted… _delicious_. Finally he seemed to realize that tasting her through his fingers was highly impractical when she was open before him - on his dinner table, with a seemingly unending supply of the stuff, so he bent down and licked her, bottom to top with one long lap. Her hips rose off the table probably about two feet in the air and she moaned loud enough for all his neighbors to hear – even the hard-of-hearing lady across the hall.

He held her hips up in the air, mostly because it made it easier on his leg. Plus he could feel every ripple, every tremor of her body through his hands and that was a huge turn-on.

His head hadn't been between her legs more than three minutes before she came again, moans and groans and screams getting even louder… he tried to tell himself he wasn't grinning because of it, but he totally was.

When he released her hips, they fell unceremoniously back to the table and he moved to unlace her boots. He picked up her underwear and stuck it in his pocket, glad she was too distracted to notice. He never understood the practice of collecting panties, but they _were_ ruined. He was just keeping them safe until he decided to throw them away.

After her boots were off, he pulled his t-shirt off over his head. It landed somewhere by his couch. The pressing problem between his legs was pushing hard against the zipper of his jeans and he pulled them off as well, kicking them under the table.

That was when Cameron seemed to regain control of her upper body, because she propped herself up on her elbows and met his face, before he felt her gaze moving slowly downwards until it reached his groin, which was covered by black cotton briefs. He resisted the urge to make a smartass comment, instead he just offered her a hand and she took it, quietly following him to his bedroom.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter II – Weak and Powerless (2/12)

_Desperate and Ravenous  
I'm so weak and powerless over you  
Desperate and Ravenous  
I'm so weak and powerless  
over you_

Cameron walked past the glass walls and into the room, looking down at Mackie's chart in her hand – only to be startled by the oversized tennis ball that was thrown at her head.

"What--?!?" She started to glare at House but he was already grinning smugly. It was a lost cause so she just took the seat closest to the board.

"So… 30-year-old female patient presented with blindness, joint pain and swelling, night sweats, rashes and seizures. And guys, this is Cameron's childhood friend, so you should probably try extra hard not to kill this one."

Cameron's jaw dropped and she was about to kick his cane, when Foreman gave his first suggestion – "Brain tumor?"

She shook her head. "It's not a brain tumor."

"Because she's your friend, she can't have cancer?" Foreman quipped.

"A brain tumor only explains a few of the symptoms; it doesn't explain the joint pain, or the rashes."

Foreman looked at House, looking for back-up but found none.

Chase then offered his piece – "What about RA?"

"Rheumatoid Arthritis wouldn't cause the blindness, or the rashes, or the seizures." Cameron argued, getting exasperated.

"SLE?" Chase offered again. "It would explain rashes… and in rare cases, Lupus patients have seizures if their antibodies are attacking their brain."

"But it still doesn't explain the blindness. And her SED rate is just slightly above normal," Cameron added, looking at Mackie's blood test results.

"_Slightly_ above is still above," House argued. "Any other _slight_ anomalies in her blood test you'd like to share with us, Dr. Cameron?"

She looked through the results again, for the thirteenth time since she'd printed them out. "Creatinine levels are high, white-count is higher and red-count is a little low."

House dropped his head down in thought, "Okay, do an MRI to check for brain tumors, an X-Ray for the affected joints to rule out RA, ANA to rule out Lupus, and check her kidneys."

Cameron stood up, "I've got her scheduled for an MRI at two, then I'm having her X-Rayed and her ANA results should be back this afternoon, and why are we checking her kidneys?"

House didn't reply right away, instead he turned to the board. "Because her creatinine levels are high, doctor. That's because her kidneys are _failing_," He said as he added 'kidney failure' on the board. "Chase, take the patient to radiology and X-Ray her hands, feet, hips and knees. Then check to see if her ANA results are back. Foreman, do the MRI." He didn't even meet Cameron's eyes.

After Foreman and Chase left without a word, Cameron glared at House even more pointedly. Before she could get a word out though, he was walking away from her and into his office.

"You can't take me off this case," she spat out as she followed him. He should've known that was going to happen. He seriously needed a better hiding spot.

"I never said I was taking you off the case," he offered as he sat down behind his desk and propped his feet up. "But you are too involved."

"You're the one making up symptoms and adding them to the board without concrete test results."

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, so it's okay when I make assumptions about a case, as long as the patient's not your acquaintance?"

"No, it's not okay. It's never okay! The patient has not complained of problems urinating, or back pain, or any of the symptoms of acute renal failure."

"So now this patient doesn't lie either?" House popped open his pill bottle. Cameron was giving him a headache.

Cameron grunted. "No, she doesn't. She's a nun, for God's sake, not to mention one of my best friends. She just spent five years taking care of orphans in Indonesia, I don't think—"

House interrupted her. "Indonesia? And you didn't think to mention that?" In one quick movement, his legs were off the desk.

"She got all her vaccinations, and she's been back for a year," Cameron argued.

Cane in hand, he was up again and limping towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Cameron shouted after him.

"Indonesia," he replied.

"You're not going to Indonesia," she challenged him.

"Oh, but I am," he offered. "I've heard of this wonderful and magic place called Internet where you can go anywhere you want… you just have to believe."

Cameron shook her head. "Then why are you moving away from the computer?"

"I just have to ask the patient a question first."

_4 Months Before_

Cameron ran towards the seldom-visited basement of PPTH. She opened the door to the morgue and saw House supporting himself against the main autopsy table, looking at his watch.

"Took you long enough," he complained.

Cameron frowned. He'd been acting weird all day; first he'd shown up after lunch wearing his white coat, mumbling something about spilling coffee on his shirt and jacket. Now he'd paged her down to the morgue for no apparent reason.

Maybe not without reason, she realized as he started limping towards her in a predatorial way. Before she knew, he'd pushed her against the nearest wall and his tongue was assaulting its way into her mouth, pushing against any resistance as if it weren't there.

And then his hand was moving under her shirt and his erection was pressing against her stomach, and she realized exactly what was going on.

He was booty-calling (booty-paging?) her.

At work.

To the morgue.

She pushed him away fast and was rewarded with the sight of him almost falling. "What the hell are you thinking?" She asked at his surprised expression.

"Which part confused you? The kissing, the petting or the slamming you against a wall?" He offered back.

"First of all, we're at work, at a _morgue_ and out-of-the-blue you page me down here, as I was getting ready to leave for the weekend, and suddenly you're shoving your tongue down my throat? Forgive me if I'm a little upset."

House's eyes met hers and she shivered. "You're the one who showed up at my house last month and asked me to admit I wanted you. Guess what? I still want you. And at this particular moment, I want you right here, right now."

Cameron sighed. "House, I am not one of your fifity-dollar hookers," she added softly.

"First of all, I usually pay at least $500, not including tip. Second of all, I don't want a hooker right now, I want you."

There was something off about his uncharacteristic admission; maybe it was the arousal, or maybe he was just saying what he thought he wanted her to hear, but Cameron felt her resolve diminishing. "We have sex once, a month ago, and now you want a reprise? Out of the blue?"

"First of all, we had sex three times in that one night, which is rather remarkable for a guy my age. Second of all, yes, I want a reprise. Third of all, it's not the first time I wanted a do-over, nor is this out of the blue. This is quite calculated… as a teaching hospital, you must know that autopsies are only performed during class time. And guess what? No classes tonight." He suddenly threw his cane into the air and grabbed it by the bottom end, so he could use the handle to reach her. She felt the wooden handle lifting up her shirt and caressing the skin it found, before hooking over the hem of her pants and pulling it as far away from her body as he could.

"We sh—should," she stuttered. "We should establish some-- some ground rules." She finally managed to get out.

"Rules?" He raised an eyebrow at her.

She nodded. "For example, no sex in the hospital. Second, no sex while we're on any case. Third, we have to keep this a strictly sexual relationship, meaning we can see other people whenever we want." The rules were most for her own sanity than his, but she wasn't about to let him know that.

"Okay," he agreed, moving to hook the cane around her waist and tug her towards him.

"Really?" she asked, surprised.

"No, you dumbwit," he snorted.

She was about to tell him that calling her names was not a good way to convince her to sleep with him, but he interrupted her before she even started.

"We're in this hospital 90 of our time; limiting the sex here would limit sex overall, which I am not okay with. And withholding sex from me while on a case could have the same effect as withholding vicodin – meaning I get grumpy; you wouldn't want to be responsible for me killing a patient, would you? And we're doing this _because _we are good together and very much sexually compatible; so if we're agreeing on making this a common occurrence, then why should we want to make it a common occurrence with anyone else?"

Cameron sighed a sigh of defeat.

Five minutes later, she was riding him on top of a metal table that made weird noises on every up-thrust. She finally understood why he'd been wearing a coat all day, as the thick white fabric protected him from the cold metal.

She was unable to control her moans, even as she feared someone from the janitorial staff would be walking outside the door – it just felt too good, and it had been too long. One entire month too long, where she'd woken up night after night humping her pillow imagining it was him again. Except none of her fervent dreams ever came close to reality, she realized as he pushed up on every down-thrust – he could only push up with his left leg, so the angle changed every time, hitting spots inside her that were slowly driving her insane.

She'd been so naïve to believe she could've ever resisted this. She suddenly understood his vicodin addiction, the feeling of powerlessness and weakness – the feeling of being completely controlled by something or someone. It was…

… _breathtaking_.

She came with a sharp scream, for once glad that they _were_ in a morgue; everything around them was dead and therefore, unable to judge her.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter III – The Noose (3/12)

_Your halo slipping down  
Your halo slipping down _

_  
Your halo slipping down to choke you now_

House walked into the office, two hours late - as usual, which meant he was actually on time. "The patient has Lupus," he announced.

"We've already discussed this," Cameron argued. "And her ANA was negative."

"Too bad," he retorted. "She has Lupus."

"I know I was the one to suggest the idea yesterday, but today I have to side with Cameron – the ANA is negative and she doesn't even present a malar rash. Most of her rashes are on her arms," Chase defended Cameron.

"Well, yesterday it was a stupid idea, but today it is a correct idea. Do you know what I found out about Indonesia? Other than the fact that they have a lot of educational sites about their women's anatomy, all very interesting – if you're willing to pay $34.99 a month."

The three doctors shook their heads.

"It's a hot country… and they have bugs. A lot of bugs."

Cameron rolled her eyes. "And…?"

"Some of those bugs are mosquitoes," House offered.

"Lupus is not transmitted via mosquitoes, House."

"Thank you for pointing the obvious, Dr. Cameron. Lupus is not transmitted via mosquitoes, but malaria is. And quite prominently in Indonesia."

Foreman frowned, "So the patient has malaria?"

House sighed, "Did you all wake up stupid this morning?" He pointed his cane at Cameron. "You're the immunologist. What's the main course of treatment to control SLE?"

"Quinine and quinine derivates – Plaquenil, mostly."

House nodded. "Also known as---?"

"Anti-malarial drugs," Cameron offered, seeming to be closer to following House's train of thought than the others. "But what difference does it make? She didn't have malaria, so she wasn't on anti-malarial drugs… and even if she'd been, that doesn't change the fact that she's sick now."

"What was her first symptom?" House asked, rather harshly. He was starting to lose his patience.

Cameron looked down at her notes, "the loss of vision."

"Progressive or acute?"

"Progressive, apparently. But it was rapid, which is when she returned to the States."

House nodded. "One of the unfortunate side effects of quinine and its derivates: blindness."

"But she wasn't on quinine," Foreman argued again.

"In the Korean War, do you know what the U.S. Military gave its soldiers to keep them from getting malaria? Quinine. The ones that had RA and Lupus watched their lifelong chronic illnesses improve unexpectedly; unfortunately, some of them didn't enjoy it for long, because they started going **blind**," House yelled at them. "Orphanage in Mosquito-land probably added quinine to its food, drinks or vitamin-supplements. The patient's Lupus was under control for five years while she ate and drank there; except she started to lose her vision. Then she leaves the jungle, returns home only to have her Lupus go completely out of control. It's attacking her brain, her kidneys, her joints and her skin. Start her on prednisone and methrotrexate."

Cameron was furious, "No! You can't do that."

"Do what?" House inquired sheepishly. "Save this patient's life?"

"You're putting her on dangerous, toxic drugs and you have absolutely no proof of her condition."

House tilted himself so he could face Foreman and Chase behind her. "Go." He motioned towards the door. "Mommy and Daddy are having a fight, but we still love you."

She put her hands on her hips.

He turned back to look at her. "Didn't you hear the whole story about the soldiers and quinine? I had it all rehearsed. Maybe I should do the whole bit again."

Cameron glared at him. "I remember your speech just fine. But the patient has negative ANA, House."

"She can still have Lupus, you know that very well," he admonished her, making her feel like she was five.

"Negative ANA for Lupus patients only happens in less than 5 of cases."

"But it does happen. So we can wait, and you can watch her get worse. Her brain will continue to short-circuit because of all the antibodies attacking it, and she'll continue to have seizures; her kidneys will decline rapidly, and her pain will increase. Then the retarded antibodies-on-speed will move on to her lungs, or her heart, or any other system. We both know that Lupus, even in extreme cases like this, is not a death sentence. But it can be."

She left her head drop, fighting back the tears. "It can't be Lupus," she almost sobbed. "Because if it is, that means her blindness isn't reversible, and it means I can't cure her, House."

She felt House moving towards her, and his arm touched hers as if he was about to pull her into a hug – that was when Chase ran back into the room, gasping for air. "Quick, come – she's crashing."

_3½ Months Before_

Sex in the PPTH garage was definitely worth the risk of getting caught, House realized as he thrust into her from behind, as she was bent over her own car.

Her shirt rode up enough to show him some freckles, just above her hips – the skin so soft and smooth, tainted by the smallest imperfections. He hadn't realized how dangerous this was.

Every time she pushed him away, every time she showed a backbone, every time she fucked him for the sake of fucking… it pulled him down, it choked him up. It was like a welcome punch on the face.

He was such a masochist.

The whole garage thing had been her idea, and he definitely hoped she'd have more ideas in the future, especially if they resulted in late-night garage!sex.

His hand covered the freckles, trying to push that particular image off his mind, as he increased his pace. She was actually keeping her moans down, which surprised him because it was the first time so far she'd done that. It almost worried him, except he could see her fingers gripping the top of the hood so tightly that even in the soft light, he could see the whiteness of the skin there. He knew he was definitely doing the right thing, especially when her muscles started to flutter around him, increasingly faster and tighter.

The frequency of their encounters was increasing; after the morgue, they met four days later at his House, then four days later again, three days later in the locker room and yesterday again at the morgue; it _was _dead quiet in there, after all.

They hadn't done it in her place yet; he suspected it was her way to keep a distance from the whole ordeal – and it was something he didn't have. They'd traded places; she was the emotionally distant, quippy, strong one – and he was daydreaming about the freckles on her lower back.

When they were done in the garage, she'd go home for the weekend and write medical articles, jog on her treadmill and practice yoga or whatever else she did to look this fucking great.

And he was going to go home to beat off to the mental image of screwing her on top of her hood in the hospital garage.

He was one _pathetic_ masochist.

For the first time since they'd kissed in his apartment, he realized he was not going to get out of this unscathed.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter IV – Blue (4/12)

Call an optimist, she's turning blue  
While I just sit and stare at you 

I don't want to know

Cameron raced down the hallway, yelling at Chase, "Why didn't you page us?"

"I did!" I complained. "But I figured it'd be faster if I came to get you instead."

Just as he said that, her pager and House's went off. She quickly silenced it as she entered the room, seeing Foreman and two nurses working on Mackie.

"Push 2mg of epi," Foreman shouted to one of the nurses as he prepared to shock Mackie.

Cameron gasped at the scene in front of her, wishing it was all a nightmare.

"What happened?!?" House demanded to know.

Chase shook his head, "we don't know. She started hiccupping, and her chest was hurting then she was crashing."

Foreman continued to try to revive Mackie and Cameron was standing at the door, dead still, afraid to make any moves. Finally, the vitals monitor started showing a sinus rhythm and Cameron was able to breathe again.

"We've got sinus rhythm and a steady pulse," Foreman announced, and even House seemed relieved.

"Cameron?" Chase asked and was rewarded with no answer.

She could hear him in the distance, but she couldn't force herself to answer. Her inner voice told her she was in shock – and her inner voice sounded a whole lot like House - except it was different from his actual voice, which was currently yelling at her to snap out of it.

The booming voice was accompanied by the sound of wood hitting glass a few inches away from her, as he slammed his cane against the glass wall of the hospital room. The sound seemed to do the trick and she met his eyes through unshed tears, a lost look on her face.

"Sorry," she whispered.

House glared at her, even though there was something soft behind it.

"Chase, stay and monitor the patient. Cameron and Foreman, come with me," House said, brushing past her and out the door. She didn't follow right away, so she heard him from several feet down the hallways shouting, "**today**, Cameron!"

"Ok, so our patient developed pericarditis, which quickly progressed into cardiac arrest," House announced as they re-entered their little sanctuary room.

"Pericarditis shouldn't have set in this quick," Foreman argued, while Cameron was disturbingly silent still.

House tilted his head. "Well, either it did set in this quick, or the patient's lying about her symptoms," he said with a pointed look towards Cameron.

That did the trick, and her face contorted into a frown. "She didn't lie."

House nodded once. "Ok, she didn't lie."

Foreman looked surprised and somewhat scared that House'd given in so quickly, but House wasn't in the mood to indulge him. "Pericarditis' treatment is steroids, we already have her on a very high dose of Prednisone. It's not pericarditis."

"All valid points," House started, "if you ignore one very important factor – and I'm sure you have."

"Bacteria," Cameron finally contributed in a soft voice.

House glared at Foreman, "You're gonna let a girl beat you?"

"She comes into the hospital and gets a bacterial infection, causing pericarditis? Isn't that a little far-fetched?" Foreman quips.

"Aren't all my theories far-fetched? And yet usually right?" House retorted.

Foreman's head dropped, defeated.

"We can't put her on antibiotics," Cameron spoke up, louder this time. "Her renal function's at 10 at best – if we put her on antibiotics, we'll box her kidneys for sure."

"We don't give her antibiotics, the membrane around her heart will become even more inflamed and she'll die," House argued.

Cameron nodded.

"She needs her kidneys," Foreman pointed out.

House glared at him again, "I knew there was a reason I paid you the big bucks," he joked. "We'll put her on a dialysis machine; then we put her on antibiotics."

"Her liver's gonna go next, House," Cameron pointed out.

"Not if she gets a kidney transplant within the next week."

Foreman snickered, "They're not gonna give her a new kidney when she's going through an intense Lupus flare; chances are, her overactive immune system will attack the new organ, even with immunosuppressants."

House broke into a grin. "That's why we're gonna give her a shining new immune system," he said. "Well, a recycled one at least. Foreman, call Nephrology and get the dialysis machine and a specialist to evaluate the patient for the transplant committee."

Then he pointed at Cameron as he started to walk out of the room.

"You, come with me. I need you to make some calls then pull your Puss-and-Boots impersonation on Cuddy."

3 Months Before 

He'd entered the elevator with her in silence, and she was thankful that the others were headed towards the locker room. Even Wilson had managed to make himself scarce— she liked Wilson well enough, but they'd been working on this case for almost two whole weeks with wrong diagnosis and diagnosis.

And the more time they spent on this case, the more House was becoming withdrawn and testy. He'd focused most of his anger on Chase, which she was glad for, but she also knew that soon she'd be a target unless House solved this particular puzzle.

The elevator's doors closed and she counted 'til three before she pulled the emergency stop button; luckily, the usual alarm didn't go off.

"Uh…" he managed before she started to devour his mouth. He tasted like A Thousand Island and Colombian Supreme, not unexpected since both items were part of his regular and very unhealthy diet.

He responded to the kiss – if you could call it that -, but she could also sense his surprise and hesitation, so she moved her hands to undo his belt. If she was going for the shock factor, she might as well go the whole way. Well, third base in this case.

The carpet of the elevator was hard against her knees, even through her expensive slacks. At least she hoped it was sterilized often, considering how many sick patients were in the elevator every day.

His pants were quickly dropped and she didn't bother pulling down his underwear; instead she just pulled him out through the fly. He was semi-erect, which was better than she expected considering they'd been in the elevator for less than two minutes.

She exhaled on him, allowing the hot air to caress him and she was rewarded when he got even harder in her hand. They were kind of pressed for time, so she couldn't take as long as she wanted to, which was a pity because they hadn't had much opportunity to enjoy this.

It was the first real opportunity she had to get a good look at his scar too, usually they were in too much of a hurry, or the lighting wasn't good… or she wasn't exactly facing him.

She let the head slip inside her mouth, rolling her tongue around it and rubbing against the little indent on the underside. His body shook above her and around her and she felt the shaft in her mouth quickly filling with blood, pulsing harder and faster with every stroke of her tongue.

When she tried to pull back slightly, his hand moved to her hair and held her in place; she wasn't surprised at his action, but the grip was weaker than she'd expected. He wasn't demanding, he was begging.

Her thighs rubbed together, as she tried to alleviate some of the pressure, even though she knew this wasn't about her. This was for him, because she wanted him to solve the case.

His grip softened even more so she could pull back, but then she took him in again, deeper this time and he groaned out loud.

"Fuck," she heard him mutter, followed by the sound of his head banging against the elevator wall.

She moaned back in reply and his erection pulsed in her mouth, causing her to have to open her jaw even wider; she'd probably be sore from this, and they'd been at it for less than five minutes.

Remembering time was a factor (she didn't want little cancer patients to have to take the stairs because one of the elevators was 'out of service'), she sped up her movements, taking him in as far back as she could. He groaned again, his grip on her hair tightening as he approached release.

That was when she decided to try something dangerous.

Her delicate fingers brushed just slightly against his scar; the muscles under there stiffened and she could tell he'd immediately tensed up but she wasn't one to give up easily. She pulled back so only the head was between her lips, her tongue was wrapping around it snugly, and she caressed his scar from bottom to top.

The taste of him against the back of her throat surprised her, but not unpleasantly. The smell of him was stronger than ever, and she took everything he was giving, moving her head down a couple of inches so none of it would spill. It was barely enough, she realized as he continued to spasm in her mouth, harder and longer than she'd seen him do so far.

When he was done, she tucked him in and pulled him pants up. His hands finally let go of her hair so he could tighten and buckle his own belt.

There was a drop of sweat on his neck and before she could stop herself, she'd licked it away. And then she pushed the emergency stop button back to its original position.

When the doors opened, Cuddy and a maintenance guy were waiting for them.

"Sorry, small medical emergency," House stated.

Cuddy gave him a skeptical glance, followed by a threatening "House… why don't I believe you?" and Cameron started to slowly walk away, trying to act as if she had not just blown her boss in their work elevator.

She still heard him when he said, "Right, Dr. Cuddy – I stopped the elevator so I could have sex with my subordinate," he quipped and Cameron heard a disapproving tsk, tsk. "You have one sick mind, woman."

She made it to the clinic before she broke into a smug grin.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter V – Vanishing (5/12)

Never really here  
What that never  
Like a thought brushing up against a sigh  
Floating away  
Floating away

"No, absolutely **no**!" Cuddy's voice resonated through her office.

"Oh, come on... I know you're dying to say yes on the inside," House challenged her. From the corner of his eye, he could see Cameron behind him with crossed arms, waiting for the verdict.

"You want to perform two life-threatening procedures at the same time on the patient?"

House nodded. "We can't do the kidney transplant without the stem-cell transplantation; the patient's current immune system will attack the new organ. Even after we kill off their immune system with radiation, it'll just come back stronger and bigger and it'll go haywire."

Cuddy shook her head. "No. Can't you refer them to Tulane or one of the other stem-cell transplantation specialists first, and then when their immune system's normal, they'll do the kidney transplant?"

Cameron cleared her throat behind him and he looked at her. "Even on dialysis, her kidneys and liver won't last more than a week at best. And we'll have to stop the antibiotics and her pericarditis will return."

Cuddy had the decency to look apologetic, "I'm sorry. I know she's your friend, but it's too much risk to this hospital."

House snorted, "You mean the risk of having a successful transplantation in our hospital? Oh yes, all the patients that would want to come to us... how could we handle it all without letting it get to our heads?" He put his hand on her desk so he could look Cuddy in the eye. "We're doing it, Cuddy. I just need you to find us another kidney."

Cuddy sighed. "Why are you even on this case still? You diagnosed her, she has SLE, refer her to a rheumatologist and be done with it."

"Because the patient's not cured," House gritted out. "We have the means to cure this patient from a lifelong illness, saving her life for the moment and at the same time, bring some reputation not to mention money to this hospital, but you're apparently too chickenshit to take the risk."

Cuddy bit her lip, the way she always did when she was about to give in.

Cameron moved to the other end of the table; "I know a great doctor at Northwestern Memorial who does transplantations; I've contacted him and he can be here in 3 days. So we just need you to put in all the requests and find a kidney before then."

"Oh, good you're awake," Cameron said as she entered Mackie's room. She checked the vital stats monitor and logs. "I was hoping you'd be awake because we need to discuss some things."

Mackie looked genuinely concerned. "What is it?"

"We told you about your SLE and how it's affecting your kidneys; unfortunately, your Lupus diagnosis is hurting your chances of getting a kidney, because even if the committee approves you, it's likely that, in its current state, your immune system will override the immunosuppressants after the surgery, and attack your new organ. Dr. House wants to try a new procedure."

"Yes?"

Cameron sat down on the hospital bed next to Mackie. "There's an experimental treatment for Lupus. It's called a stem-cell transplantation--"

"So you need two donors, one for the kidney and one for the stem cells?"

"The good thing is no, you don't. We harvest some stem cells from your current bone marrow, and then we completely destroy your immune system, like we would if you were getting any other transplant. Then we put the stem cells back into you and you start to form new, healthy blood cells, including antibodies that won't attack your new kidney or any other organs. In essence, if it works, you'll be completely cured."

Mackie frowned in confusion, "I thought Lupus wasn't curable."

"It's not. The stem-cell transplantation process is still being tested and has not been approved by the FDA as a course of treatment for SLE. But one of the doctors who are currently doing it was one of my residents at the Mayo clinic and he's agreed to be here and do it; but we have to find you a kidney in two days."

"You're going to do that surgery and the kidney transplant at the same time?"

Cameron sighed. "Pretty much; we'll harvest the stem cells, then radiation will completely kill off your current immune system; as soon as that's complete, we put the kidney in as well as the stem cells."

Mackie definitely looked upset. "This—transplantation thing—will I be able to see again?"

"I'm sorry, Mackie. No," Cameron touched Mackie's leg through the hospital blanket. "We believe the blindness was not caused in anyway by the Lupus, but by quinine poisoning, possibly ingested while you were in Indonesia. Quinine derivates are used to control Lupus flares, but the substance can do permanent damage to the eye retina; from the quick onset of your vision loss, it's likely you were exposed to very high doses for a long period of time."

Cameron saw Mackie blink back some tears. "I thought it was just the bad lighting conditions and sporadic electricity over there, you know?"

"I'm sorry, Mackie."

Then Mackie smiled through her tears, "It's okay. God works in mysterious ways, right?"

Cameron smiled, even though she knew Mackie couldn't see her. She couldn't offer bible passages or Catholic sayings to her friend if she didn't believe them anymore, but she also knew that Mackie's belief was probably strong enough for most of this hospital put together. "I'm gonna go check in with the team. The transplant committee will send someone in later to ask you some questions, okay?"

Mackie nodded and Cameron bent down to kiss her friend's forehead before leaving the room.

_2 ½ Months Before_

House leaned back in his chair in the middle of his office. It was a Saturday night, their patient had just been released and he'd holed up in his office.

He moved the glass in his hand in circles, enjoying how the ice in the scotch clinked against the half-empty glass. Nat King Cole played softly through his iPod boombox setup, helping him relax after a triple dose of Vicodin. The case had been a long one - he and Cameron seemed to clash at every decision regarding the patient. _Damn her morality and naïveté._

He figured he should be out of her hair this weekend, so he'd closed all blinds to his office, turned off the lights and proceeded to pretend he wasn't there. For someone who was so fond of the truth, he seemed pretty comfortable in ignoring it and making it disappear sometimes.

It didn't help that every time he closed his eyes, he'd see her disapproving glance, her invisible pout every time he disagreed with her; it was all there, in his mind and it was slowly driving him insane.

He never should've hired her.

Sure, she was young, smart and as great of a lay as he'd first imagined while interviewing her, but she was also insufferable, a goody-good and a fucking meddler. Foreman and Chase wanted to learn from him, but they knew they weren't going to enjoy it. Nor did they want anything to do with House away from work.

But Cameron—she was always butting in, always checking up on him, always making him second-guess himself. Of course, sleeping with her was probably not a good way to make this stop… and he was surprised she didn't seem to take any added interest in him after they started humping like bunnies.

He heard the ever annoying sound of blinds being moved and looked up to see Cameron walking in, minus labcoat and carrying a tote bag. It was too dark for him to see what she was wearing exactly, but it looked like the same jeans and sweater she'd worn all Saturday.

"Going home?" He asked, looking down at the glass in his hand again.

"Yeah," she added softly. "I saw your bike still in the parking lot."

He raised his eyebrows. "I was waiting for Wilson. Dinner date."

She put her tote bag on his desk and moved to sit on the footrest in front of him. "Nice try. Wilson left at 3 this afternoon."

He didn't have a comeback, so he raised the glass to his mouth. The scotch was bitter, especially since he could still taste the vicodin on his tongue. His leg was really throbbing now that she was in the room; usually Cameron was one of the few people who had no negative effect on his leg (except for when she rode against it for hours at a time, that is).

"What's going on?" She asked softly.

He was silent for several minutes, refusing to meet her eyes. Finally he realized she wasn't going to leave without an answer. "You were right."

"That's what this is about?" The sound of indignation in her voice was clear. "House—"

" 'You win some, you lose some?' or are you going to say 'it's not your fault.' Whatever it is, trust me, I don't want to hear."

"Too bad, House because I'm going to say it anyway. You failed."

He finally looked up and met her eyes. "_That's _your pep talk, Dr. Cameron?"

"I didn't say it was a pep talk, House. If anyone in this hospital believes in you completely, it's me. And I have to say- I don't expect you to fail – ever. Even if you come up with a crazy, dangerous idea, I _might_ walk away because I disagree with your method, I _might_ notify the nearest ethics committee, but I will **never** bet against you."

He was taken aback by her words, but before he could say anything, she raised a hand to stop him.

"It's not flattery, House. I idolize you," she paused, "and that's not necessarily a good thing. Does it bug you when I disagree with your diagnosis or the course of treatment?"

"Extremely."

"Because I'm sleeping with you?"

The question was valid, but House still chuckled to himself. "This has nothing to do with sex."

"Yet it doesn't bother you when Foreman or Chase disagree with you," she accused.

House shrugged. "It doesn't bother me because they're usually wrong."

"So you're really mad at me because you think it's wrong that I was right?"

He sighed. She wasn't getting the point, so he stood up and limped to his desk where he set the glass down, glad to see she didn't follow him. He didn't face her as he admitted, "Foreman and Chase will never be the best in their fields."

"What are you saying?" She was starting to really sound exasperated.

"I'm mad at you because you were right; _you_ were right, _I_ wasn't," he said softly.

She seemed to finally understand what was eating at him, because she said: "It doesn't make me better than you, House."

He turned to face her. "I know. But you will be. And that scares the hell out of me."

He saw the surprise in her eyes as she began to chew on her lower lip.

The pill bottle in his pocket reminded him of the pain in his leg (or vice-versa, nowadays he couldn't tell the difference) and he popped it open and took another pill. He was already getting a headache from the hydrocodone, but he'd rather have a migraine than the throbbing pain in his leg. "You can say something now," he told Cameron.

She stood up and walked towards him; it was dark enough that the office looked deserted behind the blinds, but there was enough light for him to see her shaky stride. Her lips were soft against him and he thought he tasted tears. She clung to him like a co-dependent koala bear to its favorite tree. Clothes were shed as silently as possible, and he sat down again on his chair so she could straddle him.

She was surprisingly silent, and he realized something was very wrong – this felt like it wasn't just sex, like it was something else he wasn't prepared to deal with yet. That realization coupled with the excess vicodin and the scotch was making it very difficult for him to orgasm, and if her skin didn't feel so perfect under his fingers, or if her muscles weren't squeezing him so expertly around him every time she came, he would've probably given up on release already.

The only sounds she was making as she came were soft, shaky sighs, barely there. Her body however was speaking in very high volumes, as her sweat started to drip onto his chest as stomach; he pulled her close to lick the beads of sweat between her breasts and she sighed again, squeezing him and sending shocks from his groin to his brain. Her movements never stopped, never stilled for even one second as she ground her clit against his navel over and over again; the little bud of nerves was so swollen he could feel it brushing against his skin every time.

Suddenly her hands were grabbing the back of his head and forcing him to look her in the eyes; eye contact during sex wasn't a common occurrence for him – never had been, but something there did the trick because he was coming, so intensely he couldn't hold back a moan of relief.

Around them, Nat King Cole continued to sing about how it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

Then again, what the hell did he know?


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter VI – A Stranger (6/12)

And I listen for the whisper  
Of your sweet insanity, while I formulate  
Denials of your effect on me

"We're not gonna find a kidney in time," Cameron said as she entered the conference room and threw a pile of forms on top of the table.

House poked her with his cane. "Who are you, and what have you done with our resident optimist, Dr. Cameron?"

She rolled her eyes. "This is serious."

Chase and Foreman chuckled anyway.

"Of course it's serious, it's a _kidney transplant_." House said matter-of-factly…

… which meant he wasn't done making fun of her, but she continued nonetheless. "Dr. Gervais will be here in seventeen hours. We need to have a kidney by then."

"If you've got five thousand dollars, there's an Asian guy I know who might hook you up," House added, unhelpfully.

"House!" Cameron tried to look as threatening as she could, her arms high on her hips and her head tilted.

"Sorry, _Mom_. Just because your best friend is dying, that's no reason to lose your sense of humor."

"Cameron had a sense of humor before?" Foreman quipped, earning him a death glare.

"If you're in such a hurry, why don't you give her yours?" House asked her.

She pursed her lips in reply. He sure knew how to push her buttons.

"… you've already tested yourself and you're not a match?" he concluded, _correctly_.

She nodded.

"Relax, Cameron," his voice's tone changed from humorous to concern. "We'll find a donor." Then she saw his glance towards Chase and Foreman. "Go test them, and then grab Wilson – he loves being a hero. If you don't find a match, then go through every department of this hospital and look at them—" he trailed off for a second. "Look at them like you're looking at me now, like someone just ran over your puppy. We've got seventeen hours."

"It's 3pm," Foreman added. "Everyone will be going home soon."

"Then you better get a move on," House replied, and she glanced at him one last time before hurrying out of the room.

"Are you sexually active?"

The patient (Cameron's voice in his head added _Mackie_) frowned. "I'm a _nun_."

"You didn't answer the question," House added from his uncomfortable position in one of the recliners they had in the rooms. He was half-lying, half-sitting in one of them as he asked the patient some questions; usually the lackeys would be doing this kind of stuff, but they were busy trying to find a donor and he knew an opportunity when he saw one.

"When I say I'm a nun, I mean I've committed myself to God, Christ and the Holy Spirit," she added with a smile.

"Do they all wear condoms?" House quipped and he was surprised when Mackie laughed.

"Is anything sacred to you, Dr. House?"

"No, not really," he said with honesty.

Mackie nodded. "The answer's no, I'm not sexually active. I had sex with one kid in High School; his name was Matt, and I was in love and rebelling and we had sex. He died two months later of viral pneumonia."

"And you were overcome with some sense of misplaced guilt, so you joined a convent?" House deduced, trying to figure out this patient, because in the back of his brain, if he could figure out Cameron's best friend, then he'd figure out Cameron.

Mackie laughed, "No, I know his death had nothing to do with me. We were together for six months – the best six months of my life. His parents asked me to speak at the service, and I couldn't say no. During the day, however, I couldn't stop crying – I had no idea how I was going to be able to read what I wrote, especially because the paper was soaked in tears and falling apart. Sister Francine came to me, and she didn't offer any words of wisdom, or tell me to trust God. She just hugged me, and she held me until I was composed enough to get up there and tell everyone about how great Matt was and how he'd changed my life. She made me want to help others - that's why I took my vows."

House grimaced, unable to find any untruths or white lies in the story, unable to call Mackie a hypocrite or gullible, so for the moment he just moved on to the next question, "Do you do any drugs?"

Mackie shook her head. "No." 

"Alcohol?"

She nodded. "Communion wine, two or three glasses a day."

He wrote the information down. "Any history of psychological problems?"

Mackie shook her head, "No. I thought I'd already answered all these questions."

House put the questionnaire down for a minute. "That was for your history; this is for the transplant committee."

"Did they find a donor?"

"No, not yet. But Dr. Cameron's working on it," he said, trying to sound reassuring.

"You're part Catholic, aren't you?" Mackie asked with a smirk.

"I'm the one asking questions, Sister," House quipped.

"My guess is one parent is Catholic, the other Jewish…?"

House frowned, but didn't reply.

"Am I right?"

"Just because I enjoy corporal punishment and I'm a stickler with money, it doesn't mean you're right," he joked.

"I'm talking about the guilt in your voice; I recognize it."

"I have nothing to be guilty of," House replied, quickly becoming very uncomfortable.

"My guess is, you tell everyone you're bad with names, but you remember the name of every single patient you lost. You're memorized their faces, their symptoms, everything – because you can't live with the guilt."

"You're wrong," he said simply. "You're confusing me with Dr. Cameron."

"She feels guilty about _everyone_ she meets, even the bus driver that would pick us up for school every day. You're much more selective," Mackie added with certainty.

House decided to change the subject, "So, tell me more about your high school years together; please leave the dirty, sordid details in…"

2 Months Before 

Her cramps were so bad that she was about to steal one of his Vicodin. Of course, then he'd ask her what was wrong and she'd have to tell him more than she wanted to.

It's not like they were dating, after all. She'd rather maintain most of her bodily functions to herself, for the time being.

Coming to his house had been a mistake. It's not like she'd had anything better to do for the weekend, but typing up an article for him so he could publish it, on her _free time_, was borderline pathetic…

… except he'd actually read not one of her papers, but two – and signed off on them. And in the process, he'd apparently realized she did a much better job at formatting and editing her papers than he did on his. So now she was lying on his couch, propped up on several pillows while she typed up an article from his handwritten notes. At least the heat from the laptop, propped up on her bent legs, and resting on her stomach, was alleviating some of the pain.

He was playing his guitar a few feet away, except he didn't plug it into the amplifier, so all she was hearing was the awkward sound of tensed wires against fingers. That seemed to bore him fast enough, so he moved to the couch she was sitting in and sat right next to her feet before turning on the television. The volume was muted, she noticed as the images of animals in the wild flashed across the screen as the humans continued to co-exist in silence.

She was slightly startled when he took her sock-clad foot in his lap and undressed it before he started massaging it; it did something to her cramps – something _good_, not to mention other parts of her. It was also very distracting, so she forced herself to concentrate on finishing the article so she could leave.

He spent a whole half hour on the one foot, before he switched targets. Another half hour later, he moved her sweatpants up her leg to massage her calf. She didn't usually make a habit of dressing down when she went to his place, but she felt like shit, so she dressed like it: her college sweatshirt and matching sweatpants, granny underwear and no bra. That should hold him off, she thought – except his hand kept moving up her leg, massaging everywhere he could reach. Then her feet were planted against the couch again, back to their original spot as he changed the channel, this time to some historical show of some kind.

His hand against the crotch was so unexpected, that as her head shot up, her glasses almost slid off her face. "Wh—what are you doing?" she stammered.

He smiled deviously. "Nice try… but I already know you're not as naïve as people may think."

She gulped down, the sound so loud in her own ears that she was afraid he'd heard it too. "I'm not—I'm not—" she tried to say but his thumb had found her clit and it was insistently pressing against it. "I didn't come here for sex. I need to finish this article."

"Your point being?" he asked, not stopping his ministrations.

"We're not having sex tonight," she whispered, with as much sincerity as she could muster.

"I think we are," he replied.

She shook her head back and forth several times, "no, we can't."

"How come?"

"I told you, I need to finish this article," she whispered as she felt her underwear becoming damper and damper.

"Sex now… stay over here tonight and you'll finish it tomorrow," he said as he removed his hand from her crotch long enough to close her laptop and put it on the end table behind her head, then place her glasses next to it.

He spread her bent legs so he could lie between them, on top of her. She responded to the kiss because it felt great, and she was always turned on by his kisses – which was why she didn't stop him when his hands reached underneath her sweatshirt and t-shirt to caress her especially sensitive breasts.

"No bra?" He teased her between kisses.

She nodded against him and she pushed against his touch, trying to get his hand to squeeze just a little bit. He complied and she moaned into his mouth. They sat up long enough for him to pull the t-shirt and sweatshirt off her, and then his mouth was kissing the engorged skin of her nipples. His breath against her skin was warm and she moaned, louder this time; she'd never felt like she could come just from nipple stimulation before. An orgasm was still far away-- but it was definitely possible, she realized as he switched nipples.

And then his hand was trying to move inside her sweatpants, and she panicked. She pushed him away and slipped out from underneath him. "I said no sex," she insisted, her resolve faltering slight as she saw the way his jeans were tented.

"What is going on?" He asked, sounding like a child about to throw a tantrum, which made him more vulnerable than she was used to seeing.

She decided to tell him the truth, "I'm—it's my period. I'm on my period."

He was silent at that, and she held her breath. Until he started laughing, "you're kidding, right?"

She shook her head, confused. "No."

"You're actually telling me you don't want to have sex because you're on your period?"

She nodded.

"We're _doctors_. I don't think I need to tell you that this is a normal bodily function in the female body; and I also don't think I need to tell you that women can, and do, have sex while they're riding the cotton pony."

She threw a pillow at his head. "House!"

"What?" he asked. "It's true."

"I know, I've just never felt comfortable doing it," she said. "Some heavy petting is fine, but anything more is just too messy," she admitted.

He got up from the couch and started limping towards the bathroom, stealing a glance at her that told her he expected her to follow.

It wasn't the first time she'd seen his bathroom, but she'd never noticed the steel stool with those anti-slip rubber tops he kept next to the shower. "All cripples and old folk apparently need one of these. I haven't used it since right after the infarction, but I have to admit I have my limits. And I can't have sex standing up, and on a wet floor, so you're gonna have to do most of the work," he explained. "Trust me. It'll be worth it."

She bit back a reply as he undressed and turned on the shower. She could feel the room temperature increase rapidly and she watched him disappear behind the fogged-up glass, giving her the privacy to take off her pants, underwear and dispose of the _stuff_.

His hands pulled her into the shower as soon as she opened the door. He was still standing up, and the almost unbearably hot water was cascading down his body. She noticed his erection standing proud and demanding, but she didn't touch it. He lathered up her body and handed her the shampoo bottle so she could do her hair. Then his soapy fingers moved down to her nether lips and he found her swollen clit right away, "See? You wanted sex too," he accused.

"Shut up," she demanded and surprisingly, he complied. Every once in a while, she'd glance down to see a red rivulet running down his hand, but then it'd wash away before she could feel too embarrassed. She didn't want him to overdo it with his leg, so she pushed him to the metal stool. He dropped in an unceremonious heap and she took the opportunity to straddle him, glad to see that the stool's height allowed her to keep her feet on the tiled floor – and therefore off his leg.

As soon as he entered her, she felt her muscles contracting around him, followed by her uterus cramping; pain and pleasure, all mixed together. She shouldn't find pleasure in this, she shouldn't trust this much – except she did already, so she might as well enjoy it. As long as he didn't find out the true extent of her loyalty, she was still safe.

She rode him, fast and hard, then soft and slow and back to fast. He was moaning incoherently as the water cascaded around them, one arm trying to hold onto the slippery tiled wall, the other wrapped tight around her hip.

Her orgasm hit, and she cried out as even cramps turned into pleasure. Her eyes were shut tight, white bolts of pleasure dancing behind her closed lids, as every muscle in her body felt like it was being electrocuted.

He didn't wait until she was done riding the aftermath, because she suddenly felt the added warmth against her extra sensitive cervix – and she was coming again, not as long or as intensely, but it was definitely another climax. The hand against the wall moved to brush her wet hair off her face, and through her faze she realized he was watching her, cataloguing her expressions as she continue to come.

When she finally came down, she burrowed her face in his neck, enjoying the way his stubble felt against her cheek and nose, but most importantly, hiding from his prodding gaze until she could put her mask back on.

His apartment seemed to have an industrial-sized water heater, because the water around them was still scalding hot. It wasn't until she felt his thigh muscle spasm underneath her that she finally vacated his lap, and helped him back to his feet.

As she showered, in _his_ shower, she vaguely realized she was about to spend the night – for the first time.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter VII – The Outsider (7/12)

_Help me understand why  
You've given in to all these  
Reckless dark desires_

House flipped the light switch with his cane as he entered the room and shut the door behind him.

The hospital smelled differently at six in the morning – it was probably just the smell of uncollected colostomy bags, but he definitely didn't like it.

The patient still slept soundly, and he realized that the strong surgical lights suddenly coming on weren't going to wake this particular patient, so he poked her with the cane. "Wake up!" he yelled out, pleased with the way she jumped and sat up.

"Dr. House?" She asked confusedly.

"Yes, it's me," he replied impatiently. "I need to talk to you, before Dr. Cameron wakes up from her nap in my office."

"Have you guys found a donor?" Mackie asked hopefully.

"Yes—" he admitted hesitantly.

"Oh, thank you, Father in Heaven—" Mackie started, head tilted back and hands clasped.

"Hold on, Sister," House interrupted her. "You get a kidney, _if_ you agree to the terms."

Mackie frowned. "There are terms?"

"Yes," he said offhandedly. "First term: you need to tell the nurses you want absolutely no visitors from now until you're discharged; especially Dr. Cameron."

Mackie shook her head. "I can't do that—how can the hospital ask me—"

House interrupted her again, "the hospital's not making these demands. _I_ am."

"Can _you_ do that?"

"I can if it's my kidney that's being donated," House replied. "Well, not legally, but long story short, you're going to need to keep Cameron away if you want my kidney."

"She _works_ here," Mackie pointed out.

"That will be taken care of," House added, "the second term is that you cannot, at any time, reveal to her who gave you this kidney."

Mackie pursed her lips, "And if I don't agree…"

House limped towards her, "My kidney stays in - you probably die in a couple of days, but I don't get an ugly scar so I'll be happy."

"What makes you believe I wouldn't agree to your… _terms_, and then tell A.J. the truth?"

House snickered, "Well, first – you're a nun. Second – I brought reinforcements," he said, dropping the book he was holding on her lap. "You will agree to this by swearing, on your _Holy Bible_." Actually, it was his copy of one of the volumes of Dante's Inferno, but she didn't need to know that; she probably wouldn't properly appreciate the irony and all.

Mackie tilted her head towards him, "You're not going to tell her, are you?"

"That I'm giving you my kidney? No." In fact, he'd gone to great lengths to ensure she was downstairs testing coma patients and cadavers' kidneys before he tested himself in her lab, and then he had Wilson swear to secrecy before he agreed to the pre-op tests.

"Because you think she'd think you're in love with her, if you donate your kidney to her best friend?" Mackie asked and he stayed silent, unable to come up with a witty comeback. "You don't strike me as the type to worry about what other people think of your actions, yet you're doing a lot to make sure she never finds out about this. She'd be right, wouldn't she? You're in love with her."

"Of course not," he half-lied. "I just don't want her to feel indebted to me, because then she'll _never_ leave. She'd probably insist on giving me her firstborn, and I really don't like kids."

"You're not as good of a liar as you think," Mackie accused.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Mackie hugged the book he'd dropped on her lap, smelling the dusty pages and clutching to it like a lifesaver. "I promise I won't say a word," she gave in.

House left the room quietly.

"I'm what?!" Cameron bit out.

"Suspended," Cuddy informed her.

House was standing silently in the back of the room, after having lured her to Cuddy's office.

"Why?"

The look between Cuddy and House wasn't lost on her. Cuddy seemed almost embarrassed to tell her, "_unconfirmed_ reports of an affair with your direct superior."

Cameron gasped, "You're _kidding_, right? This is some kind of sick joke," she turned towards House, "which means you're in on it, probably masterminding the whole thing."

His gaze was neutral as his face pointed towards the ground.

Cuddy cleared her throat, "This is not a joke, Dr. Cameron. You're suspended, on paid leave, until we can investigate this report," she said, holding a thick folder up. "We need to suspend you for the time being."

"Why isn't he the one getting suspended?" Cameron asked, pointing towards House.

Once again, Cuddy exchanged a knowing glance with House, and Cameron felt like she'd been punched in the stomach. "He is; suspension without pay, also for two weeks."

This was surreal; Dr. Gervais was going to be in at any point, an anonymous donor had been found and now she was being suspended. _Because of him._

She stormed out of the office, hearing the familiar thumping of a cane behind her but she knew he wouldn't be able to keep up with her. She made it to the locker room and put away her lab coat and stuffed most of the stuff in the locker in her bag before he found her.

She sent him a warning glare, hoping that would be enough for him to keep his mouth shut. She was wrong, of course.

"Listen —" He started and she detected something unfamiliar in his voice; guilt perhaps.

"Shut up, House. Just shut up," she was continuing to stuff her things into her bag, even though her bag was already filled beyond capacity. "I don't want to hear anything you have to say."

He was silent as she slammed her locker room door shut.

"How did you do it? Did you get Wilson to tell Cuddy about us so she'd suspend us?" She turned away from him, trying to keep the tears of anger at bay. "You know, if you wanted to break up whatever's going on between us, you just had to say the word. You didn't have to use hospital regulations to do it," she barked out.

"It's not—" He started to say.

"I _said_, shut up," and with that, she collected her belongings.

This time, she did kick his cane on the way out, enjoying the sounds he made as he fell down when she walked away.

_1½ Months Before _

As he thrust deep inside her, he wondered why she always agreed to his demented ideas. Her legs were spread and held open by stirrups in exam room 16 (or 17, he was so bad with memorizing them) as he moved swiftly between them. The added support for her legs meant he could concentrate on putting most of his weight on his left leg, making this position possible in the first place.

Usually after ten minutes in this position, he'd be ready to give up, but it'd been at least thirty minutes since she'd found him watching General Hospital, putting off clinic duty. During their morning meeting, her knee-length skirt had moved up to reveal the lacy top of her skin-colored stockings and once she'd found him in the exam room, he hadn't wasted the opportunity to see the lace again.

He'd ruined yet another pair of her underwear trying to remove them, and she hadn't complained because he'd bent her over the exam table and inserted two long fingers inside her, pumping them until she'd silently orgasmed.

When he'd pulled the stirrups out from under the table, she'd just raised one eyebrow at him before getting in position; it'd taken all his strength not to blow right then.

He often wondered if she'd been like this with other men; with _Chase_. Was she always an easy lay? Then he'd remember she had needed drugs to lose her inhibition with Chase -- yet she'd come onto him that night, wearing hooker boots and a green dress, under no influence other than lust. So he'd close his eyes and think she only did this for him: only spread her legs in an exam room to him, and only got on her knees in an elevator for him.

He thrust faster and deeper inside of her, trying to drive away the images of her with other men from his mind; he was so good at self-destructing.

It was a mistake to glance at her face when he felt her coming; she was biting her lower lip to keep from crying out, her whole upper body contorting under the stress of silence. It wasn't until the spectacle was over that he finally allowed himself to come inside her, mesmerized by the way her inner muscles still tugged and pulled at him.

He used to be better at lying to himself.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter VIII – Crimes (8/12)

_One...two...three   
Four...five...six  
Seven...eight...nine  
Nine...nine...nine   
Ten...ten...ten...ten_

This was the first time she was entering PPTH for a reason other than work.

It had just felt so counter-productive to sit at home, being angry with House instead of trying to find a way out of this mess. As much as she hated to admit it, as stupid as this whole thing was, she had been wrong for sleeping with him.

Plus, on her way out after her small confrontation with House in the locker room the previous day, she'd been informed that Mackie was refusing visitors and had requested Cameron off her case. Cameron had been hurt, but she knew depression was a common symptom of SLE and renal failure, plus the stress of a transplant had probably caused Mackie to feel the need to hide.

So Cameron's plan was to gain entrance to the hospital by requesting to see Cuddy, then she'd slip away to the post-op to check up on Mackie and try to convince one of the nurses to let her see her friend.

Except Cuddy's office was empty. "Excuse me, do you know where Dr. Cuddy is?" She asked Cuddy's clueless secretary.

"Dr. Cuddy is with a patient."

Cameron frowned, "Dr. Cuddy doesn't have patients," she pointed out.

The secretary shrugged, "She's in charge of Dr. House's post-op. She should be back in a few minutes if you'd like to wait for her."

Cameron hadn't felt this dizzy or confused since House had been shot.

"Did anyone ever tell you your bedside manners resemble that of a baboon?" House asked as Cuddy inspected his incision.

They'd removed the left kidney; hell, maybe that'd help out his limp – balance things somewhat.

"Remind me never to do you any more favors," Cuddy gritted out.

"Ow!" He complained when she checked his hands for edema, pushing just harder than it was necessary. "That's it, I want another doctor."

Cuddy smiled, "Sure, who would you like? Richards?"

House snorted, "He's a drunk."

"And you're a drug addict. Your point…?"

"My point is that the guy's a walking liability and you need to get rid of him before he kills a patient."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "I suggest you be quiet before I assign Dr. Chase as your doctor."

House shut up, not just because of Cuddy's threat, but also because a familiar face was glaring accusingly at him through glass windows.

Cuddy's gaze followed his and she whistled. "You're so dead," she taunted him, putting away the supplies she'd just used. "Good luck," she re-assured him before leaving the room.

He noticed Cameron seemed to take her time entering the room; he hadn't been this afraid in a long time.

"I'm debating whether I should let you explain yourself and then hit you," she started, "or if I should just hit you for being so stupid."

"No third option?" He quipped. "No thanking me for saving your friend's life?"

"I would thank you, except you seem to have gone to great lengths to hide your involvement," she said. "Would you even have told me if I hadn't shown up?"

He shook his head.

"Don't you think I would've seen the scar and figured it out?"

He swallowed, "I didn't plan on putting us in a situation where you would see the scar again," he admitted.

The look of hurt in her face was clear. "Damn it, House, what is your problem?"

"Arrogance, a twisted sense of self-preservation coupled with self-flagellation, inability to maintain healthy relationships with the people around me, plus I derive a sick sense of satisfaction from my work… should I continue?"

She shook her head. "You haven't told me anything I haven't known for at least two years. What I want to know is _why_."

"Why I lied to you?" He asked.

"No, why you did it in the first place. And tell me the truth."

He sighed, but stayed silent.

Five minutes later, the sound of the glass door being slid shut echoed in the room.

_7 Weeks Before_

She briefly wondered again how they'd ended up having sex in the hospital bathroom. All she remembered was that she'd broken the news to a little girl's family that the patient had terminal cancer; she did it well, straight-faced but compassionate – professional but warm. They were just motions she went through nowadays, _your son has stage II Reyes'… it's fatal _or _your infection has reached your brain… there's nothing we can do_.

After she'd delivered the news, she'd run to the bathroom, holding back the tears until she was safe. She hated being this weak, this emotional. In her mind, it kept her running behind Chase and Foreman - kept her at a continuous disadvantage.

He'd had to make things worse by following her into the bathroom and telling her just what he thought of her display of emotion, telling her to suck it up and deal with it. And she did, by kissing him and screwing him in a locked bathroom, right off the hospital I.C.U. wing.

The room was heavy with the smell of disinfectant. Even the pungent smell of sex couldn't fight off the industrial-strength anti-bacterial soap and cleaning products; the word _clinical_ flashed through her mind, over and over again and she wasn't sure why.

Her feet were barely touching the ground and the counter was digging into her stomach; she felt trapped. Trapped by him, trapped by her emotions, trapped by this hospital, trapped by medicine. Maybe she had no place treating patients.

Then again, she married a man who was sentenced to die; maybe she just needed to learn to accept the concept of death – to embrace it like she did all those nights in hospital rooms, when she refused to accept she was falling for Joe. If she could do that, then maybe it wouldn't be so hard…

…maybe she wouldn't have angry sex in a hospital bathroom again.


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter IX – The Nurse Who Loved Me (9/12)

_I'm taking her home with me all dressed in white  
She's got everything I need some pills in a little cup  
She's falling hard for me I can see it in her eyes_

He knew as soon as he woke up that he wasn't alone in the room. More importantly, he knew who'd be there and he should probably request Cuddy to up his morphine, because he could still remember the way Cameron stormed out of his room earlier.

"You're awake," she pointed out the obvious.

He sat up, only to find several items on the tray next to the bed. "What are these?" he asked.

She bit her lip, "I, uh… brought you some stuff."

He rummaged through the pile: his Nintendo DS, his PSP, a pile of games (some he'd never seen before), and an iPod. "This isn't mine," he said, holding out the iPod. "What did you do, raid some rich kid's room in Oncology?"

She glared at him, "No… it's mine, yours didn't hold as much stuff, and you couldn't play videos. I put General Hospital and The O.C. on there, even though I don't really believe you watch The O.C."

He snickered. "I _love_ Brian and Marissa."

"It's _Ryan_, and there should be at least two weeks worth of General Hospital on there to keep you busy. Plus I transferred all your songs—and I bought some games because you didn't have enough, so I figured—"

He frowned, "You're babbling," he pointed out. "Yesterday you were yelling at me, today you're buying me games."

She shrugged, "I went home, and I realized I had nothing to do; the only things, the only people I care about, are in this hospital."

"You can return to work immediately," he told her, knowing how much she loved her job, but she shook her head.

"I have two weeks off - _paid_."

"I just did that so I could try to keep you away from the hospital; obviously it didn't work, so it wouldn't be fair to keep you away from the job you love."

She shook her head again, "No, but that does raise an interesting point. How are you going to get rid of the investigation?"

"I'll talk to Cuddy, she'll dismiss it all."

"How can you be so sure?" Cameron asked him with her naïve eyes. "What if she believes you and I have been sleeping together, how could she allow me to stay on your team?"

He sighed, looking away. "Ahem, we, uh—Cuddy's a lot of things, but she's not a hypocrite."

When his eyes finally met hers, he saw realization slowly dawning on her as her eyes grew bigger and bigger by the second. "You and--"

He nodded, "It was a long time ago, long before Stacy… and then again for a little while after Stacy left," he admitted.

She pursed her lips. "I'd always—always suspected it, I think everyone does. But I--" she trailed off.

"Yeah," he said, looking down at the hospital blanket.

"Anything else I can get you?" She asked, standing up.

"Sponge bath?" he joked, then he realized how awkward it had sounded, especially considering he had no idea where they were sex-wise. He'd admitted to her that he'd planned on breaking things off with her rather than tell her the truth about the surgery, then she'd left being mad at him… but now she was back and bringing him things, and offering to take care of him, and he was sharing secrets with her about his past relationships.

Maybe he could blame it all on the morphine.

"Maybe later," she said with an eyebrow rising suggestively.

Well, what was _her_ excuse?

"People are gonna talk, you know?" He told her as he played one of the games she'd brought.

She looked up from the book she'd been reading with a raised eyebrow. "About what?"

He met her eyes briefly, "About how the love-struck Dr. Cameron would not leave Dr. House's bedside for hours after his surgery."

Cameron shrugged, "Let them." She returned her eyes to her book, and the beeping coming from his PSP told her he was focusing on his game, but there was something still bugging her. "What were you planning to do about Chase and Foreman? How did you know they weren't going to tell me about the surgery? Or any of the doctors and nurses in this hospital?"

It was his turn to shrug.

She gave him a smirk, "You didn't really think this completely through, did you?"

He shook his head, "I figured I'd have two Cameron-free weeks to think about the small stuff."

She continued to read her book, trying to hide her amusement.

"Have you seen Mackie yet?"

"No, her blood pressure was all over the place, so they induced a coma; she'll still be out for the next couple of hours."

He nodded. "You know," he added, "I had never pegged you for a Catholic."

Cameron closed her book, looking at him. "I'm not; haven't been for a long time."

House's eyes did the squinting thing they did when they were trying to figure out a puzzle. "Since your husband's death?"

She laughed softly and shook her head. "Why do people always assume atheists are atheists because they're disappointed or mad with God?" She asked rhetorically. "I can't be mad at something I don't believe."

"And yet your best friend's a _nun_," he pointed out.

"She wasn't a nun in _high school_," Cameron replied.

House got something of a gleam in his eyes, "Tell me, did you guys wear uniforms?"

Cameron grinned, "Yes."

She watched with amazement as he bit his lower lip. "Do you still have it?"

Her only reply was another smirk.

_5 Weeks Before_

He wasn't going to lose this bet.

The lackeys had apparently decided that he'd taught them everything there was to know; when he'd started the differential, Foreman had scoffed at him and bet $100 that the 3 of them could figure this one out on their own in less than 24 hours.

All this because he'd made fun of their diagnoses; one would think they'd have thicker skins by now.

Of course, if they lost, he'd be $300 richer and each of them would be $100 poorer; if they won, he'd be $300 poorer and really pissed off.

Chase's idea, as usual, had been stupid from the beginning, plus his test would take at least 12 hours to come back, so he went home.

House knew his main concern would be Foreman and Cameron. Foreman was currently investigating the patient's home – except House knew exactly what the patient had, and it wasn't environmental; so Foreman was definitely _brrrr_—freezing.

Which left Cameron. Blood tests were definitely the way to go, and she was making good use of her 24 hours, because she was running every test under the sun; that was not good news for him, because sooner or later, one test would come back positive, and he'd be hitting Wilson up for $300.

"What are you still doing here?" She asked him, glancing at the clock that hung against the wall.

He shrugged. "We have a dying patient, Dr. Cameron. I could never sleep, knowing this poor soul can leave this hospital, and this _world_ any minute," he lied affectedly.

She rolled her eyes and returned her gaze to the microscope.

House moved towards the stool she was sitting in, letting the hand that was not holding the cane graze just slightly against her hip. He heard her sharp intake of a breath and he smirked…

…this was going to be easy.

He stood just behind her, not caring that anyone who passed the lab's glass walls would see that he was past invading her personal space. He felt her stiffening up at his close proximity at work; this wasn't a quickie in the morgue or the storage closet, this was in the open, where anyone could see. Anyone working late, that is.

"Find anything?" He practically whispered against the nape of her neck. Her hair was up in an untidy pony tail, exposing her perfect, pale skin to him. He'd admired breasts, legs, ass, even the occasionally perfect taut tummy, but he'd never been aroused by the sight of a neck before.

Perhaps he was getting just a little too much into this, but he might as well have fun.

His free hand moved to the table in front of her, trapping her even further between him and the counter.

She shook her head in response to his earlier question, as she placed another specimen under the microscope; she was trembling slightly, to his advantage.

"You won't find anything," he lied. "You're looking in the wrong place."

She laughed, and her back vibrated against his chest. "I don't think so."

"How come?" He asked, emphasizing the last word just slightly.

She turned her heard towards him just enough to see him out of the corner of her eye. "Because you're here, -distracting me-, and that means I'm pretty close."

He snorted. "I'm not trying to distract you," he whispered, letting his tongue slide out for just a second to taste her earlobe. "If I wanted to distract you, however, I'd do this," he said as he leaned his cane against the counter and moved his now free hand to her knee. "And this," he continued, moving his other hand to brush against her breast through her vest, shirt and bra. She did always wear too many clothes; he should send her shopping with Cuddy one of these days.

His hand dropped to his side again, but his other hand stayed on her knee.

"It's not gonna work," she said with confidence.

"It won't?" This time, the hand on her knee moved to her inner thigh, about three inches away from her center. He nudged her head aside with his, so he could look at the microscope, that way if anyone _was_ watching them, they'd think he was just supporting himself against the counter to look through the microscope.

He felt her eyes burning into him, and he met them just in time to see her licking her lips. He dimly realized that he was here to distract _her_, not vice-versa, so he moved his hand higher until he touched her. The heat from her core was burning through her slacks, and he knew she was wet already; too bad he couldn't feel it. He focused his attention on the area around her clit, circling with his index finger through the thin fabric of her slacks. Her thighs were squeezing against one another, trapping his hand between her legs.

"Are you sure you're not distracted?" He asked her hoarsely.

She nodded even as she bit her lip.

He realized she was aroused, but it was unlikely she was going to orgasm this way. He needed to switch hands, so he removed his hand (enjoying the way she moaned at the loss) and whispered in her ear: "Unbutton your slacks."

He then moved to bring a stool to her left side, as close as possible.

She stared at him, puzzled, as he turned on one of the LCD monitors on his left on and connected the microscope to it, so he could see what she was examining, all without having to actually look at her. To any passerby, he was just sitting dangerously close to his employee, watching as she examined specimens from their latest case.

Her lab coat gave his right hand the needed cover, so he moved to continue his assault. His chin rested on his left hand, propped up against the counter, barely paying attention to the screen in front of him. "Next specimen, Dr. Cameron," he told her, enjoying the way she squirmed against him as she switched them.

His hand found her as wet as he'd imagined; the position was still awkward, so he couldn't insert his fingers inside her as he would have liked to – he had to settle for only going in one-knuckle-deep. She tried to tilt her hips so he could go deeper, even as she continued to go through tests and dyes and samples, mechanically moving through them.

His efforts doubled when he realized she was closer to the correct test, and he hoped she'd orgasm before realizing the right diagnosis. She was biting her lower lip to keep quiet, and he could feel the tension in her thigh as it rubbed against his; his own erection was painful, and he wished he could just throw her on the ground and get himself off as well as her, glass walls be damned – but he couldn't, seeing as that would cost him $300 (and possibly his job).

"Brucellosis," she moaned as she came around his finger.

"Who's Bruce?" He asked, feigning innocence and he removed his hand from her. "I was going for '_Oh, House_', I would've even settled for '_Oh, Greg_', but if you're taking to calling other men's names while I'm making you orgasm in the lab, maybe it's time we rethink this."

"That's the diagnosis: Brucellosis."

He sighed, erection fading just slightly when he got another idea. "Don't tell the others and I'll take you out to dinner. In a real restaurant, with real people."

She smiled, making him think he had her but she just shook her head. "No _way_."

"I'll split it with you," he said. "You'll make $50 off it."

She buttoned up her pants and took her phone out, probably getting ready to call Foreman.

"Fine, you keep your $100 plus Chase's $100," he gave in.

A finely shaped eyebrow rose at him. "And dinner?"

He squinted, refusing to give in; but it wasn't just about the money – he didn't want to give Foreman and Chase the satisfaction of winning. So he nodded. "As long as we get out of here _now_," he said, pointing to the slight tenting in his pants before he limped out of the room.

It took her less than two minutes to catch up with him.


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter X – Pet (10/12)

_Pay no mind what other voices say  
They don't care about you, like I do, like I do  
Safe from pain and truth and choice and other poison devils,  
See, they don't give a fuck about you, like I do_

She caught up with Cuddy outside her office. "Excuse me," she said, trying to get the other woman's attention.

"Dr. Cameron," Cuddy said, sounding only half-surprised. "I assume you have discovered that my _investigation_ was only a half-assed attempt on House's part to keep you out of this hospital, and now you wish to return to work?"

Cameron bit her lip. "Ahem, actually, I'm not ready to return to work yet. He, uh, wants to be released. He's refusing a new IV, he tore out the old one and he's threatening to leave AMA."

Cuddy did not look surprised in the least. "I'll release him this afternoon," she conceded.

"I also wanted to talk to you about House – or his recovery, I should say."

Cuddy pursed her lips, "Oh."

Feeling suddenly very self-conscious, Cameron debated the idea of coming to find Cuddy. "It's just that, you know, you're his doctor… and you were his doctor after the shooting, and back when he lost his leg, I just figured you knew better than anyone what to expect."

Cuddy looked like she was about to shut her down, but then she softened and motioned for Cameron to follow her into her office. Cameron watched her in silence as the other women removed her lab coat and downed a gray wool blazer; Cameron hated to admit it, especially considering what recent information House had admitted to about his past with Cuddy, but she definitely admired Cuddy. And she respected whatever Cuddy felt for House that allowed her to put up with his antics.

Cuddy sighed when she got behind her desk. "House, recovering… he's worse than usual. I mean really worse. He's meaner, he's more childish and he makes you want to either kick him or shoot him with enough morphine to put him under for a few days."

Cameron's head dropped.

"Pretty much what you feared, huh?"

Cameron nodded.

"But…" Cuddy added, "He's also at his most vulnerable."

Cameron bit her lower lip, trying to process the information she was just given.

Wordlessly, she thanked Cuddy before exiting the office.

"Get the hell away from me if you do not want that thermometer up your own rectum," House gritted out to the evil nurse - _the_ evil nurse, for there were many evil nurses in PPTH.

"Dr. House, we need to check your temperature," the nurse said, sounding exasperated.

"No, you need to release me," he argued, noticing from the corner of his eye that Cameron was entering the room.

"It's okay, I'll take care of it," Cameron assured the nurse, who handed her the thermometer and raised her hands in the air, clearing saying 'I don't want to have anything else to do with this mess.'

Cameron approached his bedside, clearly believing she was going to have better luck at this than the nurse and she seemed surprised when he swatted her hand away.

"House!" She admonished him.

He tried his best innocent look. "I don't need to have my temperature checked, I don't need a new I.V., I _do_ need to be released. I've been in this hospital for three and a half days."

"Standard recovery period for a living donor is at least 6 days in a hospital."

"Not for a laparoscopic transplant," he pointed out.

She sighed. "Cuddy is releasing you this afternoon," she admitted.

He felt relief flood through him. "Finally!"

"And you're coming home with me," she added and he felt his face freeze with surprised.

"Cuddy said that?"

Cameron shook her head, "_I_ am saying that. There is no way I'm letting you go to your house by yourself, three days after a transplant. I've seen your fridge contents – or lack of contents, I should say – and there is absolutely no way in hell I am going to allow you to eat pizza and Chinese for the next ten days."

He tried to read her, but she was hiding herself rather well lately. "You don't have a piano," he said, in a rather whiny tone. The truth was that he'd only been to her house three or four times, and only once since they'd started sleeping together. He didn't feel comfortable there; it would be too much like a real relationship.

"And _you_ don't have a choice; I convinced Cuddy to release you, I can as easily convince her to keep you here. Either you come with me, or you're staying here," she threatened.

His head dropped in defeat. "Fine."

"Plus, there will be advantages," she added. "No one will find you there; not Wilson, not Cuddy, and not your very concerned mother who is very upset her son did not tell her that he was giving up his kidney."

He frowned. "My mom doesn't—you** told** her?"

Cameron nodded weakly. "I might have called her. So if you go home, she'll probably try to call you; might even come to visit."

He suddenly felt very afraid.

_24 Days Before_

She was drunk.

Not so drunk she didn't realize she was drunk, but she was drunk.

And he was barely buzzed.

Life was so not fair.

They'd gone out to celebrate Wilson's birthday – or maybe Foreman's, she couldn't remember.

And somehow, she and House had ended up back at her apartment – something about it being a shorter cab ride and how usually he'd make Wilson pay for the damn cab but he didn't feel like getting cockblocked tonight. Or something.

She couldn't remember being this drunk since college, and even then she hadn't been a party girl by anyone's standards.

He took her keys from her hands when she missed the keyhole more than three times in a row, muttering something about 'three strikes' or 'three touchdowns' or some other sports metaphor she ignored, because now her hands were free to unbutton his pants.

"Oh, hey… hey. I don't think you're up for that, Dr. Cameron," she thought he said.

She laughed, as sexily as she could with six margaritas in her bloodstream. "I'm not the one who has to be—_up_ for it," she said and it would've probably been more effective if she hadn't hiccupped at the end of the sentence. To cover up her embarrassment, she reached into his pants, finding him slowly swelling.

That was something she could work on, she realized as they entered her apartment. She was on her knees in seconds, barely aware that he tried to stop her several times.

She could hardly taste him through her intoxicated taste buds, and he wasn't instantly hard as usual. But she did win the fight, she happily realized as he started moaning with his back to her front door.

She rode him to oblivion on the hardwood floor of her living room, not stopping for one minute to worry about his leg.

Alcohol could make her into a selfish bitch.

As she fell asleep in her bed minutes later, next to him, she'd sobered up enough to realize he'd just spent the better part of the evening taking care of her.


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter XI – Lullaby (11/12)

_Go back to sleep...  
Go back to sleep_

He sprung from the bed the moment he heard her locking the door behind her; _sprung _might've been an exaggeration, considering his post-op status and his crippled leg, but he liked the idea...

… almost as much as he liked the idea of rummaging through Cameron's drawers and cabinets. He started with the nightstand on his side of the bed—_his_? Well, the side of _her_ bed that _she_ didn't sleep in and _he_ occasionally did. And possibly other guys had too, in the past, much to his dismay.

There were some magazines in the top drawer and a spare alarm clock underneath it. _Boring_, he told himself before looking underneath the bed. Solid wood bed frame, so no skeletons there.

He moved to her side of the bed, checking the nightstand first. The bottom drawer revealed a photo album, and he opened it to see photos of her childhood, teenager years (he moved quickly past the braces-and-glasses era) and finally her wedding photos; he took his time moving through those, inspecting her face in every picture, her body language, anything that could explain to him _why_ or _how_. The album ended after the happy groom seemed to have lost all his hair, so he put it back as it was.

The top drawer was more interesting; spare batteries but no _devices_ in plain sight that could use them. He pulled the drawer open further to reveal a box of condoms—economy pack. Still sealed in plastic, and he sighed with relief before realizing that it didn't necessarily mean she wasn't having sex with anyone else, it just meant she wasn't apparently having _safe_ sex with anyone else.

Then he remembered this was Cameron, and she was always prepared. And she wasn't stupid enough to have sex without condoms; they'd even used condoms for the first two months they were having sex and only stopped after she'd tested them both for every disease on the planet.

He put the box back where it was, and moved to her bureau. He slowly sifted through the underwear drawer, diagnosing Cameron in his mind with a very bad case of OCD. She even folder her _thongs_ into neat little triangles. The bra drawer was much more interesting, several pieces of lace and silk along with a lot of padding.

She'd gone to visit Mackie in the hospital, and she would probably not be back for a while, but he wanted to make sure he'd get to cover plenty of ground, so he moved out of the bedroom and into the adjacent bathroom.

It was so neat and clean, it almost hurt his eyes. He found not one, but three boxes of tampons underneath the sink; _always prepared_, he reminded himself. There were enough toilet paper rolls to last him three years, plus an unhealthy supply of toothpaste, shampoo, conditioner and body soaps. He opened the shampoo and conditioner, instantly recognizing the scent.

The vanity mirror cabinet was boring; toothbrush and two months worth of refills for her pill prescription – he knew she kept her current month in her purse, because she wasn't stupid enough to get caught without it, a fact he definitely appreciated.

He found her walk-in closet and he sorted through the incredible number of medical textbooks and articles he found there; he'd already seen at least two dozen more books in her living room. There was no way any med student read this many books; she probably bought and kept every 'recommended reading' book every professor ever mentioned, every acclaimed book she ever found. He thought he'd gathered up a respectable collection of books in his twenty-plus years practicing, but hers definitely rivaled his.

The actual clothes in the closet didn't surprise him much; ironed slacks, skirts, vests, shirts and sweaters. He found a couple of raggy t-shirts in a drawer, probably kept for sentimental value more than anything. He also found some stunning dresses; in fact, he figured she probably spent any life insurance money from hubby on dresses (whatever hadn't been sucked out by medical bills, that is). Her shoe collection was also very impressive; he only recognized a few names, but he knew they were expensive and most bought for comfort, which was why she could spend thirty-six hours monitoring a patient, running labs and indulging him, all in high-heels and not complain (about her feet anyway, she would sometimes still complain about his ideas).

Her living room was next, and he sighed when he found out her laptop was password-protected; so much for _that_.

It took him six hours rummaging through her apartment, and in the end, he was no closer to figuring her out than before.

Refusing to imagine what House might be doing in her apartment while she was gone, Cameron knocked softly on the glass window to Mackie's room.

"You look great!" she said as she entered, seeing the healthy color in Mackie's cheeks.

"A.J.!" Mackie replied excitedly.

"Thank you for seeing me," Cameron added softly.

Mackie smiled, "Dr. Chase said you'd found out the truth about Dr. House's evil plan, so I figured there was no point in not seeing you."

Her friend extended her arms and Cameron hugged her. "I'm really glad you're okay," Cameron said, tearing up slightly.

"Apparently my SED rate is low again," Mackie told her excitedly, and for the first time since entering this hospital, she truly reminded her of the old Mackie.

Cameron smiled, "I heard. The transplantation seems to have worked; and your body shows no signs of rejecting the new kidney," she said as she sat on the bed next to her friend.

"There's something I haven't told the other doctors," Mackie whispered.

Cameron frowned, "Mackie, you have to tell them everything…" she started to say but Mackie stopped her.

"It's nothing to do with my kidney or the transplantation—but… I—I think I'm starting to see again, A.J. Nothing concrete - just shapes and shadows; I didn't realize it until this morning, when I woke up because the sun was rising. The _sun_ woke me up..."

Cameron took a deep breath. "Mackie, we talked about this, it's possible that your other senses are actually compensating for your loss of vision, and your brain is processing that information as the return of your sight, but what we did, how we cured you, it doesn't bring back your vision."

Mackie smiled _at_ her directly. "I know; I don't think it's anything you guys did."

"You think…" Cameron started to say, not wanting to sound disrespectful.

"I did pray for this, A.J., for months I've prayed. Maybe my prayers were finally answered."

Cameron sighed, "I take it you're going back, then?"

Mackie nodded. "As soon as I'm released, I'm going back. I've talked to the Mother Superior, she's forgiven me."

Refusing to point out that it was the convent that prevented Mackie from traveling to New Jersey until it was too late to do anything about her loss of vision, Cameron just smiled. "I was hoping you'd stay longer."

"I think you're going to have your hands full with your own private patient at home."

"How did you know he was at my place?"

Mackie chuckled. "I didn't. But you did always take every injured stray home, didn't you? You were worse than me. Remember what Sister Angeline used to call you?"

"St. Allison, patron of the Lost Causes?"

They laughed like they used to in high school.

Mackie pointed at Cameron, then at the clock; "You're here now and I'm cured. We have all the time in the world; now you have to tell me everything about what's going on between you and Mr. Lost Cause."

Cameron blushed but acquiesced.

_23 Days Before_

How could someone look so stunning when their hair was sticking up in all the wrong ways and they reeked of sex and alcohol? Perhaps reek was too strong of a word, she'd only had a few margaritas the night before, but she definitely didn't smell like roses and sunset.

There was just something in the way the light was hitting her, it was fucking flattering for sure. It probably helped that her room was perfectly decorated, white walls with pastel accents, yellow trims around the walls. Her bedding was so soft he wondered why the hell they hadn't done this at her place more often.

She'd probably spent a fortune on the comforter alone. And she definitely looked perfect, facing away from him as she lay on her side. He pulled back the unbelievably fluffy comforter to get a better look at her; she still snored softly, so he knew she wasn't sleeping lightly.

Her knees were bent slightly and he admired the perfect curve of her ass; if he'd designed his perfect idea of a woman, she'd probably have a more plump ass, but Cameron's was still very nice – and incredibly firm, plus he liked the way it felt against his navel when he was thrusting into her from behind.

He saw the freckles on her lower back, the ones that were always able to make him lose any train of thought. He resisted the urge to touch them because he didn't want her to wake up just yet.

Minutes passed as he just watched her sleep, comparing her beauty to his imperfections; the disgusting scar on his leg, the fading scars from his youth, the thinning hair… Cuddy, Stacy, Cameron – gorgeous women, sexually attracted to him. That was one puzzle he didn't want to solve.

His fingers drifted between her thighs, almost on their own. She was wet, probably from their venture last night, or maybe from some fun dreams. He moved behind her, lying on his good leg which would help with the thrusting.

His erection found her with no problem; it was like every part of him could just zone in and find her center, no matter how light or dark and through several degrees of intoxication. When he pushed the head in, she moaned followed by a snore, and he had to stifle a laugh. He didn't push any further, just tortured himself by thrusting the head in and pulling back out, in and back out.

She slowly awakened, and he felt her shock when she realized what was going on; he would've at least acted sheepish, but before he could try, her muscles started to contract rhythmically around him.

_No one could ever say there was a bone, nerve or muscle in Allison Cameron that was frigid in the least_, House thought as she continued to orgasm around him. He took the opportunity to push completely inside her, hoping to draw out her climax. He was rewarded with a guttural moan, and his hand moved to embrace her stomach and pull her close to him. The muscles underneath his hands were fluttering and spasming almost as much as her inner muscles were; it was certainly a spectacle.

Her orgasm seemed to go on for minutes, and he couldn't hold still anymore, so he just started thrusting, amazed that she never seemed to come down from her peak. Every time he thought it was over, she'd just start again. He felt actually sore from the pressure her muscles were exerting on his blood-filled member, but he couldn't stop, couldn't let himself come until he was sure she was done herself.

His sac and inner thighs were drenched – too slick to be his own sweat or hers; he knew it was all her fluids. He'd never felt her this wet; he'd never felt any woman this wet, and he found it extraordinarily arousing.

By the time he finally came, even his good leg felt like it was experiencing its own infarction; she'd been so exhausted she'd fallen right back to sleep and he briefly wondered if she'd remember any of it, or if she'd just believe it to be a dream.

He left her prostrate form on the bed, and he was still smirking when the cab driver picked him up in front of her apartment building.


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter XII – Gravity (12/12)

_I am surrendering to the gravity and the unknown  
Catch me, heal me, lift me back up to the sun  
_

Cameron paused the movie they were watching when she heard the oven timer go off. In her hurry to make it to the kitchen, she almost tripped over House's amplifier, which decidedly _did not _belong in her living room.

They'd made four trips to his house in six days; first for clothes, second for his electric guitar and amplifier, third for his movie collection and fourth for his acoustic guitar after her neighbors complained about the noise from the electric one.

His clothes were everywhere, his movies were everywhere, his instruments were everywhere, and she refused to admit that her tummy felt funny every time she looked around her home. Even after six months of sleeping with the guy, she still couldn't shake the occasional uneasiness in her stomach.

As she pulled the meatloaf from the oven, she fought once again with the realization that over the past week, she was happier than she'd been in a long time. Cuddy had been right - House was even worse than usual; Cameron had given in to his requests so many times, she was wondering if she had any backbone left. He'd thrown more temper tantrums than a four-year-old at a toy store. They'd even argued over when to change his dressing wounds, whether the stitches were getting infected, how often his temperature should be checked.

It was _great_.It would be so easy to lie to herself, to pretend this was a real relationship, and he was in love with her, and they were building a life together. But she wasn't going to do that.

"Have you heard from Mackie?" he shouted from the living room, a habit that really got on her nerves.

"No," she told him, refusing to raise her tone above the one she'd use if he were in the same room.

It worked, because he quickly limped into the kitchen, resting against the counter, a few feet away from where she continued to prepare dinner. "I said, 'have you heard from Mackie?'" He repeated.

"And I said, 'no'," she told him pointedly. "Not since she arrived back at the convent three days ago."

She could tell he was biting the inside of his lip, like he did when he was solving a case in his head. "What if the return of her vision is a new symptom?"

Cameron laughed. "_House_!"

"What?" He asked innocently.

"It is _not_ a symptom," she argued. "You've been away from work for almost 2 weeks and you're bored, but you're done. You solved her case."

He still looked distant, lost in thought.

"Foreman said she's regained less than 20 of her eyesight. The partial return of her sight is probably because about 20 of her blindness was caused by swelling of her ocular muscles, caused by the lupus; after we cured that, plus the steroids she was given, the swelling went down," she reasoned with him.

He sighed and nodded, and then he seemed to have a completely new idea. He moved towards her with a purpose and a leer, lifting her onto the kitchen counter before she could protest.

His mouth fastened onto hers and she completely forgot about the potatoes on the stove, or the cooling meatloaf.

He kissed her thoroughly, hard then soft then hard again. His hand quickly drifted to her breasts, as it usually did, squeezing just the right way. She returned every kiss, every squeeze, and it wasn't until his other hand closed in on her clit that she remembered his surgery.

She pulled away so fast that the back of her head connected with the top cabinets. "No!" she cried out, trying to pretend she wasn't completely drenched already.

"Yes!" he argued, pulling her mouth back to his. She gave in for a few seconds before pulling back again, this time more slowly.

"You're still recovering," she pointed out breathlessly.

His head fell to her chest. "I'm _fine_," he whined.

She laughed, "No, you're not. You're recovering from surgery and you haven't been cleared for such… _activities_."

"I'll call my doctor," he joked to her breasts.

Cameron laughed again, "You're going to call Cuddy and ask her if you're cleared to have sex with your subordinate?"

He stiffened, "I should've gotten Wilson to be my doctor—or Foreman. Foreman would understand."

She slapped his shoulder lightly. "_I'm_ a doctor and I can tell by how many Vicodins I just gave you an hour ago that you're still not recovered… and if you try to tell me those were all for your leg, then you're underestimating my intelligence."

He nodded, still against her breast, probably trying to rub her stiff nipples against his mouth. "Fine," he said, finally pulling back but not before kissing her eyebrow.

She was frozen with surprise, not sure how to react to the unusual display of affection.

He didn't feel like leaving.

Ever.

Great doctor, great humanitarian, great lay _and_ a great cook; plus he had his guitars, his movies, her books, his video games and her iPod. All he needed was his piano, and hell, he'd even give that up for Allison Cameron's meatloaf.

He did the dishes, remembering how she'd stiffened up when he'd kissed her eyebrow. He wasn't sure why he'd done it; it had just felt like a good idea. He wondered just when she would kick him out after he was recovered.

He was leaving his things everywhere, clothes strewn, toilet seat up, and dropping instruments in the middle of the room. He wanted to see how far he could push her, he wanted to know how much she could take.

He was trying to assess just how much Cameron liked him.

_Liked_. He couldn't even think the other L word, he refused to. She wasn't in love with him; if anything, she'd been in love with the idea of him. That's what he'd been telling himself ever since she'd asked him if he felt _feelings_ for her.

And he believed that if he pushed her hard enough, if he could get her to push _him_ away, then he'd have his answer – how much Cameron liked him.

The way he saw it, if she kicked him out in four days, then she was doing this mostly out of gratitude.

Ten days, she still had some _feelings_ for him.

Twenty days, she was either the most patient woman on Earth, or she had actual _feelings_ for him.

Thirty days—thirty days and he would have to actually talk to her about whatever was going on with them.

Maybe he should call Wilson and place bets.


	14. Epilogue

Epilogue

As she heard his key turning in the lock, she felt her stomach clench in fear.

She'd never done anything like this, she realized as she tugged at the hem of her skirt.

It was the last day of the month, and she knew that he always forgot to process any paperwork until the very last minute (when at all). She conveniently forgot to remind him to submit the departmental worked hours report until she was leaving, so he had to stay late - otherwise no one in the department would get paid, including him.

She stood in the doorway to her bedroom, which was not directly in front of the door, so she knew she'd be able to see him before he saw her. The knee-high socks were probably restricting her blood flow, because she felt lightheaded.

His piano wasn't even able to hide her; she was still amazed they could fit it in her apartment. Apparently they could fit almost his entire place in her apartment, she'd realized the other day at the mounting number of his possessions that seemed to make their way into her home over the past six weeks… he was like the injured stray who wouldn't leave.

She watched as he threw his blazer on the couch before the door was even fully closed, and kicked off his sneakers near the coffee table; she didn't even yell at him for it, she was dreading the moment he'd see her as it was.

His entire body froze in the spot when he finally saw her; it reminded her of his reaction to her red dress during Ian's differential, all those months ago, except this was even better – mostly because there was no Chase or Foreman next to her.

She'd never felt so self-conscious in her life as she did now, with his eyes glued to her form, his hand stopped dead in its track as it unbuttoned the third button of his blue shirt.

He was silent for what felt like minutes, and then he made a sound that seemed like a grunt, maybe a yelp.

"I'm sorry—" she started. "I just—you asked before, about my school uniform, and I found my skirt the other day, but I apparently grew a few inches since then because I couldn't remember it being this short—" she babbled.

She'd never seen a cripple move this fast, she thought as he half-limped, half-ran across her living room with the aid of his cane.

He was having a heart attack; at least that was his first thought when he saw her plaid skirt, white knee-high socks with black shoes and a pristine white button down short-sleeve shirt. Then he remembered the actual symptoms of a heart attack, and he realized that unless tightening in the groin was a synonym for chest and arm pain, he was probably not having a heart attack.

Just a _very_, _very_ good day.

He pushed her against the doorway to the bedroom, desperately hungry for her mouth, her body, _her_.

"You—you like it?" she asked breathlessly between kisses.

"Like is not a strong enough word," he muttered against her lips as he felt her breasts through the fabric of her shirt and her bra.

She moved to unbutton the shirt but his hands stopped her. He pulled away from her long enough to push her into the bedroom, and he sat on her bed, clutching his cane until his knuckles turned white.

"Oh god," he groaned, watching her hard nipples push through her bra and shirt, loving the way her cheeks were flushed with genuine embarrassment.

_So fucking perfect._

"Is _this--_" he asked, pointing to her outfit, "the reason why I was stuck at work until 6pm?"

He hoped she could tell where he was going with this, even though they'd never particularly acted out this kind of fantasy before.

To his surprise, she bit her lower lip and nodded meekly. Either it was honesty, or she already playing his game; if he was a really lucky bastard, both.

He changed the way he was sitting on the bed and patted his good leg. She surprised him again by bending over it, so that most of her weight actually rested on her arms against the bed.

His hand trailed up the back of an incredibly smooth thigh and slowly lifted her skirt. She was wearing white cotton underwear, plain as day and in this—_scenario_--, it made him harder than if she weren't wearing anything at all. One round cheek pushed back against his palm as he caressed it through the cotton.

She protested when his hand moved away so he could pick up his cane; then she yelped when the cane made sharp contact with her left cheek. He did again and again and again, but the cane proved useless in such proximity; he'd have to try that another time.

When his bare hand made contact with her clothed cheek, she yelped again, but this time it was throatier. He repeated the action several more times, enjoying the way her outer thigh brushed against his erection with every slap.

He wanted more, needed more, so he tugged her underwear down until it was halfway down his thigh. There were marks on her skin already, evidence of his repeated slaps against the perfect cheeks.

He slapped her again, harder this time, watching the skin redden even more, in the shape of his hand. His gaze moved down further, to between her legs where he could see her sex glistening. One finger dipped inside her, finding her even wetter there; it was amazing. She was amazing.

_Slap_, he did it again when she wasn't expecting it. He caressed the skin, rubbing away the pain so he could do it again. She was reduced to moans between slaps, random sounds of pain and pleasure under his ministrations.

His erection felt like it was going to explode inside his pants, but he couldn't stop; he didn't stop, not until she was sobbing against him. As his hand stopped, she cried out in protest.

He pushed her off his lap until she was lying on her stomach. He soothed the welts he'd created with his lips and tongue, amazed by the way she hissed every time he nudged one of the redder welts with his nose. She hissed even louder when his tongue dipped between her cheeks to taste her there, his fingers moving below his mouth to enter her dripping center.

A chuckle escaped him when she pulled one of pillows under her stomach, opening herself further to his gaze, fingers and mouth. He finally unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, and stopped long enough to strip completely. She made a move to remove her own clothing but once again he stopped her, like he had in the doorway. Her head turned towards him, and his breath caught when he saw how dilated her pupils were, how lost and desperate she looked.

His eyes were still locked with hers when he entered her from behind. She was close already, which was good because he had no idea how long he was going to last; it could be ten seconds, it could be an hour. He thrust erratically, no rhyme or reason, just desperately needing release and hoping she'd come with him.

The handprints on her cheeks were fading, so he struck her again and again, noticing how every time he did it, she would spasm around him. He finally let go when she came, pushing inside of her as deep as he could go, emptying himself completely.

He collapsed onto her back, her soft laughter not escaping him; it took all his leftover energy to roll onto his side, and he watched sadly as she got up to undress.

She pulled the covers and motioned for him to get under; it took some maneuvering but he did it with as little effort as possible. When she got in bed, he almost involuntarily pulled her towards him. "If every time I do paperwork, you wear that outfit, I'll be the best department head in that hospital," he whispered and her body shook with laughter in his arms.

"You'll do even my articles?" She asked.

He nodded against her hair, already drifting away. "Even your articles."


	15. Sequel

**Title: The Finish Line**  
**Author: **Alice J. Foster

**Summary:** When Cameron collapses, House must be the one to diagnose and treat her.  
**Spoilers:** Season 3  
**Category/Warnings:** Angst, medical stuff, romance, etc.  
**Pairing/Characters:** House/Cameron, Ducklings v1.0, Wilson, Cuddy.  
**Rating:** NC-17

**Started:** 12/30/2006  
**Finished:** tbd

**Author's Note: **This is a sequel to my other multi-chapter House fanfic "Thirteenth Step," set about six months after the end of TS.

**Prologue**  
**June 2007**

"You're discharged; they're processing your paperwork right now," Allison Cameron told their latest patient with a shadow of a smile.

The patient didn't seem to notice the lack of emotion on Cameron's part, because she wrapped her arms around the small-framed doctor. Cameron didn't pull away, but she maintained her distance; she should be happy –their case was over and she was going away. Forever.

No more Gregory House, no more puzzles and strange diseases, no more Chase and Foreman and being part of a team. She was leaving, going back home - where she was going to spend the last of her husband's life insurance to setup her own private practice.

She knew it was going to be boring, but she didn't have much choice. All the arguments she'd had with herself over the past three months replayed in her mind as she left the patient room and met up with Foreman and Chase. Just as always, they were out of loop, never for one second imagining that tomorrow they'd come in, and Cameron would be gone; to be fair, this time they weren't the only ones unaware of her decision. Miraculously, only Cuddy was aware she was leaving.

She wished she could tell them, but it was for the best—she couldn't risk word getting back to House before she was on a plane and far, far away. Every minute of every day counted now; she'd worry herself sick every morning in front of the mirror as she tried on outfit after outfit, hoping to find one that would keep her omission going for just a while longer.

Cameron glanced at the clock in one of the walls as the trio started their walk back to their conference room. Another half an hour and she would be free of the physical form of House; then all she had to do was to find a way to remove him from her mind and soul, to forget his touch, kisses and glances… it wouldn't be easy, of course, especially when she was going to have a constant and permanent reminder of her affair with House in a few weeks' time.

She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she didn't even realize her body hitting the floor…

…and then her world went dark.

**New chapters for "The Finish Line" can be found at my LJ, or .**


End file.
